


The World Is Still Turning

by mikaelzman



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Asexual Landon Kirby, Bisexual Female Character, Childhood Friends, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, High School, Hosie, Hosie Endgame, Josie is a theatre kid but a popular one, Loss of Parent(s), Mizzie, Mystic Falls (Vampire Diaries), Step-siblings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaelzman/pseuds/mikaelzman
Summary: Four years isn’t a long time, not to anyone who lives an ordinary life with no loss. Not to anyone who lives in Mystic Falls. It’s just another set number of silly traditions, happy holiday’s and town events, replaying over and over and over again. For Hope, four years has felt like a lifetime. She’s barely eighteen and yet, she feels like half of her life has already been lived. And truly, she just wants to forget it ever happened in the first place.orHope Mikaelson is back in Mystic Falls four years after the loss of her dad. Now an orphan, she’s living with Alaric Saltzman and her ex-stepsisters, Lizzie and Josie. Life in Mystic Falls is going to take more adjusting than she ever prepared for, her world seems like it’s completely flipped upside down, and people she knew aren’t who they used to be. Now attending Mystic Falls High School for senior year, she doesn’t have a clue where she belongs.But maybe she’ll have one hell of a time figuring it out.___High School AU
Relationships: Ethan Machado/Hope Mikaelson, Hayley Marshall & Hope Mikaelson & Klaus Mikaelson, Hope Mikaelson & Josie Saltzman & Lizzie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson & Lizzie Saltzman, Hope Mikaelson & Rafael Waithe, Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman, Landon Kirby & Hope Mikaelson, Lizzie Saltzman/Sebastian, Milton "MG" Greasley/Lizzie Saltzman, Penelope Park/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 182
Kudos: 234





	1. Who Doesn't Love Coming Back Here?

**SEPTEMBER 8, 2030**

**EVERYTHING IN HOPE MIKAELSON’S LIFE HAS CHANGED,** so it’s a relief to her when not a damn thing about Mystic Falls is different. The same tire-worn roads from tourists driving through on their way to a bigger city, the same crisp air that always makes it feel like autumn, the same sunny sky that belts beams through every crack in every tree branch. 

And yet, it still doesn’t feel like she’s home. 

The car shakes on the gravel in the road as Hope pulls up beside Caroline Forbes’ childhood home. Small on the outside, large on the inside. Hope yanks the keys from the ignition in her dad’s car. She makes no move to step out of the vehicle. If she does, then it all becomes real— her dad is dead and she’s back to square one.

It’s not that Hope hates this small, rustic town in central Virginia. It’s charming qualities make it a suitable place to live, and it's no wonder why every founding family finds themselves back here. The southern hospitality of the waitresses at the breakfast diners, the fair amount of teenagers that populate the town square on the weekends or after school, the seemingly kind-hearted authority figures that manage to keep the town safe. Mystic Falls is safe. Yet everyone who Hope has ever loved has lived here and died. 

When her dad was diagnosed, they’d found it too late. Cancer of the brain. He was dying long before anyone could’ve guessed something was wrong. He fainted at work and was rushed to the hospital. It was the day Hope’s life changed for the worst. 

Hope’s mom died in an accident when Hope was ten, and her dad when she was fifteen. Ask anyone, but their answer would remain the same as everyone else’s— that’s not a long life with a parent, let alone two. 

After her dad died, holding her hand in his bedroom where there was once a comfortable California king that was shortly replaced with a hospital bed, Hope spent a couple years in New Orleans. She tried to make it feel like home, but the truth was, it never would be. Not without her dad alive.

And now, she’s back here. 

Four years isn’t a long time, not to anyone who lives an ordinary life with no loss. Not to anyone who lives in Mystic Falls. It’s just another set number of silly traditions, happy holiday’s and town events, replaying over and over and over again. For Hope, four years has felt like a lifetime. She’s barely eighteen and yet, she feels like half of her life has already been lived. And truly, she just wants to forget it ever happened in the first place. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting outside her (ex)-stepmother’s home in nothing but silence. She jumps at the sound of someone tapping on the driver’s seat window. The sun blinds her when she turns, so she makes a visor with her hand and cranks down the window. Alaric is standing there, eyes squinting and hands on his hips. 

“Hey,” he says. “Let me help with your things.” 

Hope doesn’t say a word as she pops the trunk. She hardly brought anything back with her from New Orleans. Who knew how long it’d be before she decided Mystic Falls wasn’t enough for her, either.

“It’s not much,” Hope jumps down from the car and walks around back. “I travel light.”

Alaric chuckles. “I can see that,” he acknowledges the two leather antique suitcases that danced around in the trunk for the entire fourteen hour drive. He pulls them both out with ease and Hope closes the trunk behind her, wiping her hands on her jeans once it clicks shut. 

There’s a moment where neither of them say a word. Hope and Alaric had never been that close. They’d had a few family dinners together, but Hope lived most of her life with his ex-wife and their daughters. Alaric had his own apartment downtown that she’d only been to once or twice. It wasn’t until Hope, Klaus and Caroline packed up and moved to New Orleans for Klaus’ final months that Alaric moved into Caroline’s home to take care of the twins. Now, he’s kept the place and Caroline has moved out. 

_Looks like I’m not the only one who has a hard time staying still,_ Hope thinks. 

“How’re you doing?” Alaric’s voice is uncertain. It’s never too soon to ask a question like that after losing someone you love. Hope knows Alaric understands the feeling. He’d lost the love of his life seventeen years ago. Lizzie and Josie’s biological mom, Jo. 

Caroline and Jo had been good friends and Caroline agreed to be Jo and Alaric’s surrogate since Jo was unable to have children. She died before Caroline gave birth, and since then, she and Alaric stuck together to raise the girls. Hope has always admired them for that, but she can’t imagine how lonely it must’ve felt. 

“I’m fine,” Hope nods. Her voice goes up an octave but it isn’t on purpose. It’s almost embarrassing how fake her answer sounds. “You know, just want to start fresh again I guess.” 

“Yeah. Who doesn’t love coming back here?” Alaric says, but it’s sarcastic. It kind of makes Hope smile. 

They head inside and the house still smells how Hope remembers it— like daisies and coconut body butter. Photos of Caroline, Alaric and the girls scatter the walls of the entryway. If Hope didn’t know any better, she’d believe they were one big, happy family. There’s not a single photo of her dad in here. Caroline must’ve taken them all when she moved. 

There’s also not a single trace of the ex-evil-stepsisters. Alaric seems to read Hope’s mind because he says, “the twins are doing some final back to school shopping.” He lets out a tiny huff as he sets down Hope’s suitcases at the end of the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting you this early or else I wouldn’t have sent them off with my card. You can imagine they took that without question.”

Hope ignores the second part. “It’s alright. I’m sure they’re not too thrilled with my coming back, anyway.” 

They exchange a look, but Hope doesn’t think he meant to agree with his eyes. The twins and Hope had never gotten along. It wasn’t Hope’s decision— she’d always try to be civil with them, but there’s strength in numbers. Lizzie and Josie never failed to remind Hope she wasn’t a Saltzman, or a Forbes, and she would never be a part of their family. And up until now, Hope was okay with that. She had her dad, she had her family in New Orleans and she knew Caroline loved her like one of her own. But now Caroline is gone, her dad permanently, and she’d worn out New Orleans. 

Hope doesn’t have a single place where she belongs. 

“I have the crockpot going. I hope you still like meat. I know a lot of teenagers don’t these days,” Alaric laughs at his attempt at a joke. Hope fakes a smile. 

“I still partake in meat,” she plays along. “But honestly, I’m really tired. I could use a nap. Long drive and all.”

“It won’t be ready for a couple of more hours. Um, your room is as you left it,” he motions up the stairs. “I didn’t let the girls change it or anything, so…” 

“Thanks, Ric.” It’s genuine. Right now, Hope feels like she’s thanking him for a million different things. Taking in the orphan that she is now, keeping her room the same so it feels familiar, having hospitality and carrying in her lighter-than-a-feather suitcases. For being nice to her. Because right now, she could use it. 

“Oh, um, let me help—“ Alaric reaches for the luggage, but Hope stops him.

“I got it,” she says. “I travel light,” she reminds him, lifting up the cases to show the ease that they are. He nods. 

“I’ll call you down once dinner’s done. I’m sure the girls will be home within a couple of hours.”

“Sounds good,” Hope lies. 

Her bedroom really hasn’t changed at all. Much to her surprise, all of the necklaces she left are still hanging on the clear push pin by her door, and when she opens her dresser drawers, all of her clothes are accounted for. She doesn’t doubt that Lizzie and Josie used this place as a mall, but she applauds them on making it look like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Her bed tucked into the corner by the window had never looked more comfortable than it did now. She kicks off her boots and curls her toes into the fluffy area rug, her muscles finally relaxing as she lets out a gentle sigh. The painted navy walls give her a sense of familiarity, and for a moment, she’s fourteen again, her dad isn’t sick, Josie and Lizzie are painting each other’s nails in the room next door while pop music shakes every decor item on Hope’s wall, and she can smell the dinner her dad is cooking downstairs through the vents. 

But the feeling is ripped from her when she spots the copper picture frame on the nightstand— a childhood photo of her and her parents. Tears brim in her eyes, but she sucks them back in and quickly unpacks, shoving her remaining clothes in the blue dresser, removing her rings and placing them in the tiny silver bowl on top of it. 

She notices that one ring does seem to be missing— a delicate crescent moon with a beautiful emerald jewel in the center. It matches her necklace. The only reason she realizes that it’s missing is because she gave it to someone before she left. 

_Does she still wear it?_ Hope thinks. 

But she brushes off the question like dust and changes into some comfortable clothes instead. A pair of grey sweats and a maroon v-neck. She slips in-between her sheets and sleep finds her faster than she can close her eyes. 

When Hope comes down for dinner, only two seats are set at the table. Antique china over a sky blue placemat. Hope recognizes the setup from Caroline, knowing the china belonged to her mom, Liz Forbes’ grandmother. Hope wonders how Alaric managed to keep hold of something so valuable. Caroline must still really trust him.

“The girls, uh, won’t be joining us,” Alaric says nervously. “They’re gonna be eating dinner with some friends at the Mystic Grill.”

Hope tries not to sigh of relief. She doesn’t trust her voice, so she chooses to nod instead. 

Alaric pulls a chair out and it takes Hope a moment to register that it’s for her. She sits down, places her napkin in her lap and clears her throat. She hasn’t had a homemade meal in a long time. Her dad liked to cook, he made all the meals for the Mikaelson’s. After he died, everything in the kitchen went stale. Hope got used to takeout boxes piling up in her lofty bedroom. 

“It’s pot roast,” Alaric hums. He opens the crockpot and steam clouds the air. He backs away for a moment, waves his hand through the mist, then peaks back into the cooking device. “I haven’t made it in a while, so I hope it’s good.” 

Hope’s stomach growls. It’s loud and she hopes that Alaric didn’t hear. She’d abandoned the idea of stopping for any snacks on the way to Mystic Falls. The drive was long enough without any distractions. Besides, if she did find a place to rest, she was afraid she’d make up her mind and drive somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away.

“Smells great,” she compliments. Alaric laughs as he sets a full plate of food in front of Hope and it takes everything inside of her not to devour it like some kind of rabid animal. There’s potatoes and carrots soaked in gravy, and there’s a faint hint of garlic, her favorite. 

“I’m sure you’re starving,” Alaric sits across from Hope. The kitchen is dim, only a few lamps are cut on, one on the counter and one standing in the corner behind Hope. The mahogany wood floors creak anytime either one of them moves. 

The second the food touches Hope’s mouth, she closes her eyes and savors every bite. This she could get used to. 

“Wow,” Hope swallows. “This is amazing. I never knew you could cook.” 

“Like I said, I haven’t made it in forever. I did some of the cooking before Care and I separated, but I’m sure her meals definitely outdo mine.” 

She almost tells Alaric that Caroline never cooked. Usually, she’d just sit on the couch while Hope’s dad prepped a ginormous meal behind her in the kitchen. Hope would always catch Caroline stealing glances her dad’s way, smiling to herself before taking a small sip from her not-so-small glass of red. 

It’s the little moments like that Hope finds herself missing the most.

“So,” Alaric huffs after downing his glass of ice water. “Is there anyone you’re excited to see at school tomorrow?” 

Hope had almost forgotten she started school tomorrow. For a second, her heart sinks. She’d gotten so used to homeschool back in New Orleans. One of her uncles, Elijah, is a major history nerd and a Professor at Tulane University. He’d done most of the teaching. 

“Um, I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone. It felt… easier that way.” 

“Really?” Alaric hums. He bites a piece of meat off his fork. “How come?” 

“I guess I just kinda figured I’d never come back,” Hope admits. “I thought I’d stay there forever. It’s where my family lived and all. When I chose to leave, I think I shocked myself more than anyone else.”

“Yeah, well, keeping your feet on the ground in a place that only reminds you of what you’ve lost isn’t really the easiest thing in the world, is it?” 

Hope doesn’t say anything. She just gives Alaric this kind-of-sad grimace. Mystic Falls isn’t the happiest place on Earth, either. But at least her dad didn’t die here. 

She’ll never look at New Orleans the way she did when she was younger. Bright eyes full of beauty, waiting to see what would jump out at her around the corner. It wasn’t a place she ever thought of as sad. Now, the thought of the city itself makes her heart fill with nothing but grief and the name leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Suddenly, she isn’t so hungry anymore. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Alaric stands up so fast that his knees nearly slam into the bottom of the table. He rushes over to the cluttered corner of the L shaped kitchen counter and pulls out a sheet of cheap, white paper and hands it to Hope. “Principal and all, I was able to get my hands on your schedule early. I tried influencing the administration to put you in some classes with familiar faces. I think you have history with Landon.” 

Hope tears her eyes away from the schedule. “Landon? As in Landon Kirby?” 

Alaric furrows his brows. “Of course. Josie told me you and him dated for a while—“ 

“We were friends first,” Hope whispers.

Last time Hope talked to Landon, it wasn’t even face-to-face, let alone hearing each other’s voices. She dumped him over text when she hit the half-way point to New Orleans. She pretty much dumped everyone the second she passed that monument. At that moment, it had all felt too real. She wasn’t going to come back, and everyone in Mystic Falls was a part of her past. She needed to move on, and so did they. 

_Landon must hate me,_ she thinks. 

“—and then you have a class with the twins. I can’t remember what subject, though… and any extracurricular you want to take is up to you but keep in mind, it _is_ required.” 

Hope only caught onto the end of Alaric’s schedule-tour. She was too busy panicking. Suddenly, her throat felt like it was closing up, her hands were beginning to stream with sweat so she set the paper down beside her glass and chugged the water instead. 

“Hope… are you alright?” Alaric asked. 

Hope avoided eye contact. “I-I’m fine.” She looked everywhere but Alaric. Past the kitchen into one of the family rooms. The red couch Caroline used to sit on, admiring her dad and telling Hope about stories when they were young, how they met, the second she knew Klaus was the one. The coffee table where endless rounds of Monopoly and Sorry! were battled out. The coffee machine that Hope broke when she was twelve and wanted to feel like an adult. All of the memories came flooding back like a tidal wave and Hope is drowning in them.

“Look, I know it’s overwhelming, but there’s nothing to worry about. Lizzie and Josie will be there with you tomorrow, I made sure of that. They’ll be showing you all around the school—“ 

“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” Hope cut in. “I-I’m sorry, Ric. The meal was great, thanks.” 

Hope rushes out of the dining room, not a look back at Alaric. She can feel guilty tomorrow. Right now, all she can think about is what is going to happen the second she walks into Mystic Falls High tomorrow. 

This was never supposed to be her life. When did everything turn so sour? There’s that bad taste in her mouth again. She rushes into the bathroom, fumbling for her toothbrush. She lathers the bristles with mint paste and scrubs her teeth until she can’t breathe. When she’s finally done, her fingers clutch around the sink and turn paper white. She meets her eyes in the mirror. When she was younger, she remembers her mom always complimenting her bright, beautiful blue eyes. 

“They’re just like your father’s,” her mom would say, before kissing her forehead. 

But right now, they’re dull. And they’re not beautiful. 

They’re full of fear. 

Leaving was easier than she ever imagined it would be. Coming back was harder than she ever thought. How was she supposed to face all of the people she’d left behind without a thought? 

She never loved Landon, not in the way you’re supposed to love a boyfriend. Not in the way her dad loved Caroline. Her eyes were always drifting elsewhere— to the girl with the crescent moon ring with the emerald jewel. The girl she’d been fighting so hard to rip from her memories, because she knew she’d never be able to have her. 

_“Hey.”_

_Hope jumped. She turned around, whisk in one hand, her other supporting a bowl of dough. It was her mom’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe. She’d always make them for Hope whenever she was feeling sad, scared, angry or all of the above. Hope’s been making them herself since the night she found out her mom died on Route 29._

_Josie is standing in the kitchen, at least five feet away from Hope. She’s wearing her checkered purple pajama pants and a grey hoodie. Hope swallows._

_“Did I wake you?”_

_Josie snorts. “Yeah. Your aggressive cookie stirring had the whole house shaking.”_

_“Sorry,” Hope mumbles._

_Josie grins. It isn’t teasing or mean. It’s nice. “It was a joke,” she laughs._

_Hope blinks._

And she’s back in the bathroom. She stores that memory away again. And again, and again, and again, and every single time it comes up, she shoves it in a mental box under her bed, just like where she keeps all of her favorite keepsakes. They stay hidden, because looking at them, opening them brings back memories too painful to be remembered. 

And Hope can’t take anymore pain. So, she changes into some comfy clothes and tucks herself into bed like she has been doing by herself for years now. 

Last time she went to sleep— real sleep— in this bedroom, it was the night before her dad was diagnosed, and he was standing in the doorway, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he switched off the lights. 

Earlier, Hope said she’d watch a movie with him, but she was too tired to keep that promise by the time the stars and the crescent moon had come out. 

“Goodnight my littlest wolf,” he’d whispered, his voice full of love. “For there’s always tomorrow.” 

Looks like Hope wasn’t the only one who broke her promise that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh!! okay so this is my first legacies fic (i have another posted but not much has been done for it yet)  
> please tell me what you think! it would mean a lot to me :)


	2. Looks Like You Two Have History Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! before we get started, i just want to say a few things.
> 
> first, be warned: there is no hosie in this chapter.  
> i want hope and josie to see each other again when the time is right and i want to make sure it's perfect for you guys (and them).  
> i promise it's coming!! just stick around, it'll be worth it.  
> (i also wanted to take some time to show you all hope and lizzie's dynamic and set the tone for them a bit!)
> 
> second: i'm still working on getting voices right. so if something one of the characters says doesn't exactly sound like something they would say, super sorry, i'll get there (hopefully).
> 
> with all of that being said, i seriously wasn't expecting the feedback i got from chapter 1. thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos!! it kept me so inspired and made me so extremely happy. seeing all of your guys' support is seriously the best feeling. i can't thank you enough, just wow!!
> 
> lastly, you can see lizzie & hope's outfits for this chapter [here.](https://imgur.com/gallery/es6Sd4y)

**SEPTEMBER 9, 2030**

**HOPE IS EXPECTING A STORM.** Not an actual one, of course. More of a metaphorical one in the shape of Lizzie and Josie Saltzman. 

Downstairs, silverware is chiming against plates and the aroma of bacon flows through the vent in Hope’s bedroom. She would be lying if she said it didn’t make her stomach growl. Her dad always made the best breakfast, something she misses every time she opens up her eyes. 

But her dad is dead. So it looks like Alaric’s will have to do. 

Hope hesitates before taking the first step down the stairs. She stares at her worn-out black boots for a while instead, one foot hovering over that first wooden step. She could always sneak right out the front door, not say a word and disappear into the abyss of the world. She could leave and never come back. 

But that’s what got her into this mess in the first place. 

Despite feeling like she’s going to throw up at any given moment, Hope inhales and takes that first step. She still doesn’t know if she’s walking on death row. Like the second she wanders into the kitchen, one of the twins (probably Lizzie), will aim a butter knife perfectly into her chest without batting an eye. Josie would laugh, Alaric would shrug, and Hope would die on their kitchen floor. They’d step over her like gum on a New York City sidewalk. 

But that doesn’t happen. 

The first thing Hope notices when she steps into the kitchen is that Josie is missing. Maybe she’s in the bathroom, or maybe she’s still upstairs getting ready and Hope barely missed her. Maybe she’s hiding in the living room or took her breakfast to the backyard. 

Lizzie’s there, though. She doesn’t meet Hope’s eyes. She doesn’t say a word. She only, rather aggressively, bites off a piece of her toast and chews so hard and for so long it looks like her pointed jaw might snap. The top of her blonde hair is frizzy, and Hope notices that it’s likely due to the knitted orange beanie sitting beside her plate. She probably yanked it off the second she realized her head was sweating. Her outfit, a grey t-shirt tucked into a pair of thigh-length overalls, finished with a flannel, is rather cute, something Hope might wear if she was feeling bold enough. But it’s not something the Lizzie she used to know would wear. 

“Hope, you’re up!” Alaric grins. He sets a plate down in the same spot where Hope sat for dinner. He slides a pancake onto it. “I made pancakes. There’s some bacon, too. I can make you some toast? I usually manage to burn it but I promise I’ll try not to,” he laughs. He’s dressed in a fitted grey suit and a Mystic-Falls-maroon tie. 

“That’s okay,” Hope sits down. It’s slow and cautious. For the first time, Lizzie meets Hope’s gaze. She follows her every move and Hope checks to make sure she isn’t snake-eyeing her and reaching for the butter knife. “Just some bacon is fine.” 

Alaric places two slivers down. Hope doesn’t touch them. She’s too busy having a staring contest with the blonde Saltzman. 

Alaric holds up a carton. “OJ?” 

“Uh… sure,” Hope holds out the glass beside her plate. She clears her throat. “Where’s Josie?” 

Finally, Lizzie breaks eye contact. “ _Josie_ gets a ride to school with her obnoxious friends. She left earlier than she would last year, though.”

It’s that moment when Hope starts to wonder if Lizzie knows what happened the night before she ran from Mystic Falls and never looked back. Everything Lizzie says, for years, has always seemed to have a double meaning. Hope spent countless hours dissecting every word with the sharp tip of a scalpel, but the only thing she ever finds is more questions. She can’t tell if she’s more terrified or impressed with Lizzie’s poetry.

Hope can never say anything at all. Part of knowing what to say is knowing how you feel. Hope doesn’t have a clue about anything anymore. 

That’s when Hope notices the placemat for Josie sitting at the end of the table. They were expecting her to stick around for breakfast. If she were here, she probably would’ve kept her eyes straight ahead, or darted them to Lizzie to share looks of distaste for the new addition to family breakfasts. Or she wouldn’t have looked anywhere but her plate, eyes locked on the pancakes. No bacon, though, because Josie gave up meat in the fifth grade. 

Either way, Hope knows not a word would’ve been spoken from those pouty lips.

Will she be living with a ghost for the rest of the school year? She’ll probably hear Josie in the room next door, hear her laughter and hear her talking on the phone to her friends. Hear her brushing her teeth in the morning and tip-toeing to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Hear her whispering secrets to Lizzie, hear her telling Alaric all about her day at school. 

But Hope will never see her. And she can’t tell how that makes her feel. 

Sad, angry, relieved. All of the above. 

“Crap,” Alaric checks his watch. “We have five minutes. Eat fast.” 

So, Hope does. She scarfs down everything that she can— the pancakes, the bacon, and she downs it with the entire glass of orange juice. She’d hardly eaten her dinner last night, so everything tastes like it was made on a cloud in heaven. 

Lizzie collects Hope’s dishes. Hope thinks it’s a force of habit, and Lizzie seems to shock herself for a moment, too. She falters, visibly embarrassed by her own hospitality, before turning on her heel and dumping it all into the sink with a loud clash. But Hope hardly hears it over Alaric rushing out the door. 

Hope’s fumbling for her bag when she feels steady breathing lifting the hairs on the back of her neck. 

“Um,” she turns around. “Is there a reason I can feel a breeze?” 

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “I’m waiting. You’re my ride.” 

Hope blinks. “I figured we’d ride with your dad ‘cause, you know, he works there.” 

Lizzie gasps. “Nuh-uh. No way. That is so not cool. So hurry up. My feet are starting to _throb_ from waiting on you.” 

Hope follows Lizzie out the front door. She doesn’t know why she’s listening to the bossy blonde, but she grabs her car keys out of her bag, anyway, but all she can think is _what a waste of fucking gas._

Hope has been inside Mystic Falls High only once in her life. Back in middle school, the high school hosted a heritage night. Each classroom was decorated like a different part of the world. Klaus and Caroline forced Hope and the twins to go because it would open their eyes to other cultures and allow them to meet a more diverse group of people. But Hope spent the entire duration of the night racking up on hors d’oeuvres from different countries and eating them with Landon in the auditorium. They’d sat on the stage the entire night because seeing people from school, _outside_ of school, made them both anxious. 

Landon always helped Hope whenever she felt anxious. 

And yet, right now, he’s the last person she wants to see. 

There’s a crowd of students walking across the school yard. By what seems to be some sort of stoner pit, there’s two jocks passing a football back and forth. They nearly hit a nerd in the head but laughed it off like it was nothing. Cheerleaders are welcoming the senior class inside, kicking their legs up higher than the Eiffel Tower and just the sight causes Hopes’ to cramp up. There’s laughter and joy and she wonders if this is how every other person in the world apart from herself felt on the first day of school. 

The seniors here have been together for four years. Hope hasn’t seen these people in that long— she knows they likely won’t be welcoming her with open arms. 

“Hello?” Lizzie waves her hand across Hope’s face. “Are you done reminiscing? We have things to do, Hope.” 

Hope blinks. “Um, sorry,” she mutters. “Let’s go.” 

On her way up the pavement, a boy running past Hope accidentally attaches himself to her cardigan. He doesn’t pay attention so he continues to run, tearing a strip right down the middle of her sleeve. Hope’s frustrated groan must’ve been loud enough because he turns around, looks at the gigantic gash in her fabric, and runs right back to her. 

“Holy shit,” he widens his eyes. “Did I do that?” 

“No, it was the other guy,” Hope rolls her eyes. “Yes, you did it!” She looks down at the slit again. It could easily be fixed if Hope had the time, or the talent, to stitch it up. But quite obviously, that wasn’t an option at the moment. 

“Wow, I’m so sorry. Uh… here,” he digs into his bag and pulls out a varsity jacket. A jock. _Why is it always a jock?_

Lizzie stands idly by. Hope can hear her feet tapping impatiently against the pavement. 

“Forget it,” Hope huffs, pushing away the boy’s held out hand. She turns to walk away, but the persisting runner grabs her arm and keeps her from taking another step. 

“Please, take it. It’s the least I can do.”

For the first time, Hope looks at him. Golden olive skin and tousled brown hair. Pretty brown eyes, she notices, and a perfectly placed mole on his cheek bone. If Hope wasn’t so annoyed by him, she would’ve found him cute.. 

“Seriously,” Hope shifts. His eyes are intense without even trying, and it makes her look away. “It’s just a sweater. It’s not even cold out.” 

“Thought that counts?” He asks. He wiggles it again, as if to say _one last time before I take it back._

She looks at it. “Thanks anyway,” Hope doesn’t look back as she walks away, grabbing Lizzie by the elbow to get the both of them away as fast as possible. 

Lizzie makes a noise. Hope thinks for a moment that it was nothing, until she makes it once again, and this time, it’s louder. 

“Okay, what?!” Hope snaps. 

“ _Harsh,_ ” Lizzie gasps. “I was about to give you good news, Mikaelson.” 

Hope sighs. “And what is that?” She takes off the cardigan and ties it the best she can around her waist. They’re stopped in front of the steps to the school and Hope thinks it looks like a pathway to Hell itself.

“Ethan Machado just offered you his jacket.” 

Hope crosses her arms. “Who?”

“Only the most sought out boy in school. I’d like him too if I were as basic as the other girls here when it comes to crushes. I’m more into the mysterious types. Ethan leaves nothing to the imagination.” 

“It was just a jacket.” 

“Nuh-uh. It’s never _just_ a jacket, Hope. Ethan Machado accidentally broke my charm bracelet freshman year and he didn’t offer me a thing.” 

“The guy sounds really good at breaking things. If you ask me, that’s a red flag,” Hope snarks. “Can we just get this over with?” 

“Fine,” Lizzie huffs. “But just remember, first he’s offering you a jacket, next it’ll be his hand in marriage. So watch out.”

Hope doesn’t say anything to that. Ethan Mac-his-name doesn’t give a damn about Hope Mikaelson. He made a mistake and he tried to fix it like any sane human being would do. 

Of course, Hope is one to talk. Maybe she could actually learn a few things from him.

Inside, the hallways aren’t nearly as crowded as the front yard. Looking straight ahead, Hope feels like she’s seeing tunnel vision. The hallway doesn’t seem to have an end, but if she squints, she can see what looks to be a trophy case sitting at the end. The recess lighting is oddly dim, but the sunlight beaming through the windows brightens the place up. Students hang around with their groups of friends, muffled sentences passing through their lips and Hope feels like everything is moving in slow motion. 

“Lizzie!” 

Someone is running toward Lizzie at full-speed. By the time Hope is finished blinking, there’s a boy standing beside the blonde Saltzman girl, dark skin and black poofy hair. His smile is charming and his teeth are so white Hope thinks they look fake. He’s bending over the slightest bit, visibly drained from his jog. 

_Why is everyone running?_

“Scram, MG,” Lizzie rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t play me like that, you know I’m your best friend,” he grins. “Now introduce me,” he motions to Hope. 

“Last I checked, you were perfectly good at talking all on your own,” Lizzie insisted. 

MG ignores the snide comment. It must be a regular thing because the poor boy isn’t even phased. He turns to Hope. Handsome, she notices easily, and he seems to be the nicest guy at this school so far. 

_At least he didn’t tear apart my sweater like a dog with a chew toy,_ she thinks. 

He holds out his hand. “Milton Greasley, but my friends call me MG. You, however, can call me anything you like,” he smirks, laughing halfway through the end of his sentence. He radiates positivity and doesn’t seem to have a dimmer.

Hope turns to Lizzie. She can’t tell if she’s angry or just annoyed, but it amuses her either way, a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips. 

“I’m Hope,” she takes his hand. It’s soft and his shake is gentle, maybe even romantic. It doesn’t take Hope a moment more to realize that he’s a flirt. 

“Wait— _Hope Mikaelson?_ Lizzie, isn’t she your step-sister? The one you told me about—“ 

“Beat it, MG!” 

MG scatters like a cockroach and Hope takes note that the boy could run track if he wanted to. 

“You say jump and they ask how high,” Hope proclaims as her and Lizzie start down the hall. “Impressive.” 

“Please. That’s just MG. Step on his toe and he’ll go running to the bathroom to cry about it for an hour,” Lizzie rolls her eyes. 

“He’s cute,” Hope shrugs. 

“Paws off, _Mikaelson,_ ” Lizzie sneers. “You don’t get to barge into my room and steal all of my things.” 

Hope cocks a brow. “So he’s a thing now?” 

“No,” Lizzie huffs and crosses her arms. “He’s an MG. There’s supposed to be a difference.”

For the first time, Lizzie cracks a smile at Hope. 

But that’s when Hope sees him. Curly black hair and that stupid blue flannel she feels like he’s been wearing since elementary school. She remembers his eyes, greener than grass, so bright and full of wonder and the moment they meet her blues, Hope wants to sink into herself and disappear forever. 

She hurt him, she knows that. And seeing him there, curious and confused eyes staring directly into hers, hand on the strap of his book bag, frozen in place, she knows he remembers it all. 

Landon wants to say something. She can tell by the way his lips part the smallest bit, and his hand raises up almost as if to wave, like this was some kind of regular occurrence, seeing each other in the halls. And once, it was normal for them. 

Until Hope ruined all of it. 

But she can’t help it, it’s what she does best. She ruins everything she touches. 

He takes the tiniest step forward, his mouth opens wider, but his hand finds the back of his neck, his shoulders slump, and he turns on his heel and walks straight into the classroom next to him. 

Hope feels sick. 

“What’s the deal with you two?” Lizzie crosses her arms. “I thought you were best friends, _always and forever,_ ” she mocks Hope’s mantra. She only shared it with the people she loved the most. 

With family. 

Hope straightens up. “Always and forever is a lie,” she admits. 

“Maybe, I don’t know,” Lizzie shrugs. “All I know is that things are about to get even more awkward. That class your pet mop just walked into?” Lizzie grins. 

Hope cringes. “Please don’t say it,” she closes her eyes. Tight.

“Welcome to first period, Hope Mikaelson. Looks like you two have history together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! again, i'm sorry there's no hosie, but like i said, it's coming so just bear with me!  
> feedback is always appreciated! ♡


	3. Doesn't It Make You Want To Fall In Love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! sorry this update has been so delayed, but i hope this chapter is worth it ;)
> 
> i made a playlist for this story! you can find it [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7D1CEENXO0ckabHkz5Ouie?si=F9YcvxRCToWsOJQ7nhhNeA)

**SEPTEMBER 9, 2030.**

**“HOPE?”**

When Hope turns around, it’s Landon standing there, fidgeting his fingers before a hand moves to play with the hairs on the back of his neck. For a moment, his eyes dance around the cafeteria table where she and Lizzie sit with MG. He almost looks regretful of his decision to approach them.

Landon clears his throat. “Can we talk? Outside, maybe?” 

Hope looks to Lizzie for help, but she isn’t sure why. Lizzie eats her ham and cheese sandwich like some kind of squirrel while avoiding eye contact with Hope all together. Instead, she exchanges looks with MG who does equally as much avoiding. Hope turns back to Landon. 

She wipes her hands on her jeans. “Sure,” she half-smiles. It probably looks pathetic, but it’s all she can muster up. Behind that half-smile, Hope is screaming, begging for this moment to be some sort of lucid dream that she can snap her fingers and wake up from. Landon does some sort of nod, gives MG a short wave, and leads Hope out of the cafeteria doors and into the courtyard. 

First period had been awkward enough. When she walked in, eyes darting around the classroom for the nearest empty seat, she immediately saw Landon placed in the middle of the room like a centerpiece. The second they made eye contact, his eyes pounced in the opposite direction and out the window. Hope could see his chest rising and falling at an unsteady pace. 

She didn’t know which of them she did it for, but she took the seat the farthest away from him in the back right corner of the room.

She didn’t pay attention in history. Instead, she’d looked out the window and watched the birds and the squirrels. She watched the way the wind picked up the fallen leaves and took them somewhere new. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted to be anywhere but there.

Yet now, she’s here. 

Sitting underneath a tree in the grassy courtyard of Mystic Falls High, with the boy she definitely _wasn’t_ k-i-s-s-i-n-g-in-a-tree with anymore. 

Neither of them say anything for a moment. Landon just unpacks his lunch and pulls out a sandwich from a container. Hope can imagine, despite his age, his mom prepping it for him in the morning. He’d always secretly been her favorite son. 

He holds the sandwich up. “Um… do you want half?” 

It’s some sort of piece offering, she thinks, so she feels bad if she says no. 

“Okay,” she takes it slowly. Peanut butter and jelly. “Thanks.” 

He takes a bite, Hope just holds it.

For the first time, Landon laughs. He forms a fist over his mouth to avoid spitting out crumbs. “I didn’t poison it, Hope,” he says, voice slightly muffled from the surplus of peanut butter.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had,” she checks out the sandwich, then gives Landon a smile. It’s guilty and sad and she hopes it shows how sorry she is. 

Landon sets down his half and sighs. Birds are chirping and Hope wonders if it’s the same ones she saw during first period. They’re blue and grey and they shake the tree when they fly away. A leaf lands in her hair and Landon picks it out without thinking.

He clears his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “That wasn’t like, romantic, or anything.” 

Hope cracks a grin. “Are you rejecting me right now, Landon Kirby?” 

He throws his hands up. “Believe me, it’s nothing personal.” 

There’s more to that sentence, Hope can tell by the way his eyes flicker with some sort of fear for a short moment. There’s something he’s afraid to tell her. 

“Um,” Landon sighs. “I don’t really know how to say it.” 

Hope shifts. “Okay. Do you want me to start, then?” 

Landon looks at her. His eyes are so pretty. She wishes she could’ve loved him. 

She tried, she really did. But something wouldn’t let her. 

Someone. 

Someone she still has yet to see all day. Someone she also hurt. Hope can’t help but think if there’s a single person in her life that she hasn’t hurt one way or another. 

Instead of answering, Landon just nods. 

“I’m sorry,” Hope whispers. It comes out weaker than she would’ve liked it to. She’s pleading, she knows it, and Landon tilts his head the slightest bit, his bright green eyes soften up like melting butter. 

“I’m not mad at you, Hope,” Landon shakes his head. “I never have been.” 

Hope’s furrows her brows. Landon Kirby had every single right to be mad at her. To be furious with her, in fact. To hate her, to paint devil horns on her head, to throw darts at her photographs. She hurt him, quite possibly more than anyone has ever hurt him. 

Didn’t she? 

“Wait. You don’t… hate me?” She whispers.

Landon laughs. “In what world could I hate Hope Mikaelson, _my best friend?_ ”

“In a world where I hurt you,” Hope meets his eyes when he looks down. “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

Hope almost feels like this is some sort of joke. Like a group of Landon’s friends are going to jump out from behind the tree with big cameras, laugh and say _you should’ve seen your face._

Landon takes Hope’s hand. It’s a slow decision— she can see him questioning it for a moment. But within a split second, all doubt vanishes as he interlaces their fingers. His eyes look into hers and she sees the kid she grew up with, loved like a brother and trusted like a best friend. The person she put all of her faith into, the person she once thought she’d never see a life without until she did. 

It’s this moment when she realizes how much she’s missed Landon Kirby. Her best friend.

“You did hurt me,” he says, and Hope’s heart falls into the pit of her stomach. She feels the tears rushing to the surface, but he squeezes her hand. “You hurt me because you didn’t come to me.” 

Hope blinks. “What?” A tear falls, but she’s quick to wipe it away. 

“Your dad _died _, Hope,” Landon shakes his head. “I wanted to be there for you. I didn’t care what my label was to you. I just….wanted to be by your side.”__

__Hope swallows. It’s thick and full of pain, like she’s shoving a golfball down her throat._ _

__She doesn’t want to cry anymore._ _

__“I thought it was easier, leaving with no strings attached,” Hope admits._ _

__“Was it?” Landon asks._ _

__Hope shrugs. “For a while, yeah,” she looks away. “Um, but there were some really lonely moments. I mean, I felt like I could die. Everyone would be asleep and I’d be laying in bed in awake, just staring at the ceiling for hours and crying until I couldn’t breathe,” she paused, before admitting, “I wanted to call you.”_ _

__“I would’ve answered.”_ _

__“I thought you hated me.”_ _

__“It’s always easier that way,” Landon says. “It’s easier to assume how people feel about you because that way it doesn’t hurt as much knowing that they just really just miss you.”_ _

__Hope shakes her head. She curls her lips to prevent from sobbing. “I missed you so much, Landon.”_ _

__“I never want you doing that again,” Landon narrows his eyes. “From now on, we face things together. Just like we promised.”_ _

__Hope nods frantically. Landon wraps her in his arms. She curls into his body the way she would when they were young and innocent. When they had nothing to worry about except what flavor popsicle they were going to pick out later. Back when things were easy and free. Back when Hope knew what happy was._ _

__“Now,” Landon huffs. “What I’m about to say, I’ve only ever said to a couple of people. It’s not that big of a deal but, maybe it is, I don’t really know,” Landon shakes his head._ _

__Hope tilts her head. “What is it? What’s wrong?”_ _

__Landon laughs. “Nothing’s _wrong,_ I hope,” he says. “Just… different.” _ _

__Hope takes his hand this time._ _

__“I don’t… have feelings for you,” Landon’s confession is slow and cautious and the slightest bit awkward._ _

__Hope pretends to be hurt, but she’s smiling. “Again with the rejection.”_ _

__“No,” Landon laughs. “I, uh… okay. You know how when we were really young, you thought I had a crush on Alyssa Chang? And I said…”_ _

__“That you didn’t know what it felt like to like someone that way,” Hope finishes. “I remember.”_ _

__Landon swallows. “I still… feel that way,” he admits._ _

__“About Alyssa Chang?” Hope’s confused, so she thinks for a moment. Before Landon can say anything else, though, it hits her. “Or about… anyone?”_ _

__Landon avoids looking at Hope. Like if he does, she’ll realize what this means._ _

__He never loved her, either. Not like that._ _

__“Landon…” Hope smiles. “ _It’s okay._ I mean, just because you don’t love romantically doesn’t mean you don’t love at all. In fact, you’re the most loving person that I’ve ever met. You have so much love to give people, it doesn’t matter what kind, or how you show it. You just… love, and I love that about you.” _ _

__Landon cracks a grin. “Take a shot every time you say love to the aromantic.”_ _

__Hope punches his shoulder. “Shut up,” she laughs. And he does, too._ _

__And for the first time in years, sitting under the tree with her best friend as the sun draws light onto his face, Hope remembers what happy feels like._ _

__She takes her first bite of the sandwich._ _

__

__

__“Josie is _so_ dead.”_ _

__Lizzie’s tone is humorous as she and Hope stand beside each other in Mystic Fall High’s gymnasium. They’re waiting in an endless line just to jot down the sizes for their P.E. uniforms. Students’ laughter bounces off the walls and shoes squeak against the hard ground as those who already wrote down their sizes run a lap or ball basketball— “Your choice,” Coach Carter had yelled before blowing a whistle and damaging everyone’s eardrums. It was completely unnecessary, and Hope can tell she and him aren’t going to be buddy-buddy._ _

__“Why’s that?” Hope entertains Lizzie._ _

__“She wasn’t at lunch today. I thought maybe she skipped the cafeteria for a fine dine, but she wasn’t in sixth period, either. So, I came to the ultimate conclusion that she ditched her textbooks for tokes and hopped on the girlfriend train, far away from here.”_ _

__Hope tries to act like this new information about the brunette Saltzman doesn’t distract her focus, or cause her heart to throb, but she wonders how obvious it actually is as she looks around the gym._ _

__“You know her better,” Hope mumbles._ _

__She wants to ask about the girlfriend thing, but it’d be a dead giveaway— she cares about Josie Saltzman more than anyone thinks._ _

__Hope spots MG in what Coach Carter chose as “the male line” (or as Lizzie described it, the “sexist and misogynistic queue made by the King of Toxicity himself”). MG waves, a wide smile taking up his entire face. Hope smiles back and turns around. When she does, someone running a lap bumps straight into her._ _

__“Ow,” Hope groans. The collision was a rough knock to her shoulder. The pain is sharp, but develops into a deep, dull ache as she massages the spot she knows will bruise tomorrow. The person grabs her, their touch is gentle counter to their punch, and when Hope looks up, she suddenly feels like she’s in a really bad teen movie._ _

__“I’m so sorry,” Ethan exclaims. “I can’t believe I just did that to you again.”_ _

__“Makes two of us,” Hope rolls her eyes. Lizzie snickers behind her._ _

__“I don’t have a shoulder to offer you,” he says. “We can try the jacket thing again? Maybe the nurse for an ice pack?”_ _

__“It’s fine,” Hope huffs. She rolls hers shoulder, hoping it will feel good as new, but the sudden movement causes her to hiss in pain._ _

__Ethan winces. “It’s really not,” he steps forward and hovers his hands in a circle over Hope’s shoulder. It feels like it’s been torn apart by a dog. “Please tell me there’s something I can do.”_ _

___You can watch where you’re going and stop bumping into me,_ Hope thinks about saying, but swallows it instead._ _

__“You can pay for the surgery,” Hope doesn’t meet his eyes. Honestly, she kind of just wants him to leave._ _

__Ethan grins. “Send me the bill.”_ _

__Finally, Hope looks at him. He’s backing away, slowly, and his eyes never leave hers. His jaw is sharp, his face so clean-shaven it makes him look younger. Not _young_ young, just… youthful. He’s charming, which means he’s probably no good. Or he’s like this with every person he meets, regardless of gender, so Hope thinks nothing of it. _ _

__He smiles to himself, jogs away, and Hope lets out a shaky breath._ _

__“Oh. My. God,” Lizzie’s jaw is on the floor. “You are so gonna get laid by Ethan Machado.”_ _

__“Lizzie!” Hope gasps. She looks around. They’ve gained a few stares— mostly students who haven’t looked away since the, apparently most “sought out” guy here, used Hope’s shoulder as a punching bag._ _

__“What?” Lizzie smirks. “He was flirting.”_ _

__“He was not _flirting,_ ” Hope blushes. “We were having a conversation.” _ _

__“Yeah. A conversation that involved _flirting._ ”_ _

__“This line is taking forever,” Hope stands on her tiptoes to look over the students ahead of her. There’s a group of girls at the front giggling with each other, clearly holding up the line._ _

__“Don’t change the subject on me, Mikaelson,” Lizzie grins. “You like him.”_ _

__“I don’t even know him!”_ _

__“So? I don’t know Johnny Depp and _I_ still like him,” Lizzie attempts to make a point, but it only draws Hope farther away from any sort of conclusion._ _

__“You’re unbelievable.”_ _

__Lizzie places her hand over her heart. “Thank you, Hope.”_ _

__“I don’t like Ethan Machado,” Hope says. It’s final. She can’t tell if she’s trying to convince Lizzie or herself._ _

__Boys like Ethan Machado are too-good-to-be-true. They’re handsome, charming, and always find a way to use those two things against anyone who comes their way, whether it be a pretty smile and puppy dog eyes, or cute, heart-warming words that make you forget about everything they’ve done wrong. Hope’s seen the movies— she knows how it ends._ _

__Ethan Machado is just another character in Hope Mikaelson’s life that she can’t— and _won’t_ — let in. _ _

__And that’s a promise she’s going to keep._ _

__

__Hope doesn’t remember the last time she read over a syllabus. Being homeschooled for three years, mostly by her very own Uncle, she never really needed one. Starting to read over the curriculum for American History, she puts it right back down. The sudden movement sends a shock of pain through her arm and up to her shoulder. She pulls down her sweater, cautiously as every move seemed to add to the ache, she saw there’s a deep purple blemish accessorizing her shoulder. She winces at the sight of it. Maybe it _was_ worse than she thought. She never knew that one shoulder could cause this to another, but then again, Ethan Machado was built like an college football star._ _

__Hope stands up from the dining table and makes her way into the kitchen. She opens the freezer and searches for something, anything, solid enough to rest on the bruise. It’s when she finally finds a bag of frozen cauliflower that she hears what sounds like someone falling down the stairs. Hope rushes to the archway leading into the living room and realizes it was only Alaric marching down the steps, face full of fury, red as the devil. It looked like his heart was bursting._ _

__Slowly, Hope brings the bag to her shoulder. “Ric? Is everything al—“_ _

__The front door slams midway through Hope’s sentence. Instead of saying anything, she takes a seat. Was someone outside trying to break in? That’s irrational— for starters, it’s Mystic Falls. Second, Alaric didn’t bring down a single item to defend himself with._ _

__And that’s when Hope hears her._ _

__Through the glass on the front door, Hope still can’t see Josie, she’s just out of frame._ _

__But she can hear her._ _

__“I’m the principal, Josette. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out you skipped your first day?!”_ _

__Hope swallows. She can see Alaric perfectly. He’s not as mad as he was when he came stomping down the steps, causing the pictures on the walls to shake like an earthquake had hit central Virginia. Like the sight of his daughter’s permanent pouty lips and doe eyes cooled him down just enough to not blow his top off._ _

__“I’m not some trouble-child, okay? I just didn’t want to be there.”_ _

__Her voice is muffled, but it’s hers, and Hope can’t believe she’s hearing it. She knew she’d have to see Josie eventually. It was unavoidable— living together, having room’s next door to each other, going to the same school. It was a game of the impossible._ _

__Hope knows she should pack her things and go upstairs. It sounds private and it’s rude to eavesdrop. But she can’t help it._ _

__Hearing Josie again— it awakens something in her she realized fell asleep a long, long time ago._ _

__She doesn’t know whether to be happy, scared, sad. All of the above and more._ _

__“No teenager wants to be at school, Josie, but you go anyway because it’s _mandatory._ Now, give me your phone,” Alaric juts out his hand. “You’re grounded until further notice.” _ _

__“What? No! I’m almost eighteen. You can’t do that.”_ _

__Alaric laughs. “I’m your father and I pay the bill. So yeah, actually, I can. Now, give me the telephone, Josette.”_ _

__Hope watches Josie’s hand place the device into Alaric palm. Her nail polish is black._ _

__“Now, go to bed. You have school tomorrow and I’m your ride.”_ _

__“I have a ride,” Josie snarks._ _

__“Yeah. _Me,_ ” Alaric snaps back. “I’m taking you to school until I decide I can trust you again. And don’t even think about skipping out halfway. I’ll be making sure you’re in class. Now, go to bed.” _ _

__The front door opens after a few moments. Hope sees her suede ankle boots first, then it’s her long legs, the beige suede skirt. And then the smallest amount of her belly is shown, her black shirt not quite reaching the hemline of her skirt. And then it’s the plaid black-and-white coat, and then the necklace of the Sagittarius constellation, and then her neck, her jaw, her lips, her nose._ _

__Her._ _

__Hope doesn’t know why, but she stands up. The pain in her shoulder goes numb as she stares at Josie. Her hair is down to her waist, pin-straight and silky, and beautiful. Hope remembers when it got caught in her cherry lip gloss._ _

_Their laughter had finally died down and the girls collapsed onto the floor. Hope accidentally knocks into Alaric’s bottle of bourbon. She holds it up._

_“Are you sure he won’t notice?” She shakes it._

_Josie laughs. “He’ll think he drank it.”_

_“There’s still some left,” Hope grins. Her and Josie exchange a look before Hope excitedly downs the final shot. She falls back onto the ground and laughs. Her head is foggy, her eyes are heavy, and she feels like she’s floating._

_For once, everything is calm._

_“Here,” Josie says suddenly. She’s pulling her phone and earbuds out of her hoodie’s pocket. She hands Hope one. “Let’s listen to some music. I know some good songs.”_

_Hope takes the headphone and puts it into her ear without question. Whatever Josie likes, she wants to like, too. They’re lying flat on the ground, eyes up at the ceiling pretending it’s the stars._

_Hope shuts her eyes as a song begins to play. It’s acoustic melody makes her swear she’s heard it before, it must’ve been a hit. Or maybe she heard it playing on a vinyl in the living room one day. Maybe her dad and Caroline danced to it once in front of the fireplace. It sounds like that type of song._

_It’s older, but Josie always loved those songs the best. Sometimes, Hope can hear her belting Frank Sinatra in the shower. She always sounds beautiful._

_“I like this,” Hope hums. She keeps her eyes closed._

_Josie sighs. “Doesn’t it make you want to fall in love?”_

_Finally, Hope opens her eyes. When she blinks her way back into light, Josie is staring at her. Strands of her hair are caught in her lipgloss. When she realizes she was caught staring, she giggles loudly, pulls the sticky strands from her lips, and her cheeks turn bright red. She covers her mouth, still giggling to herself._

_All Hope can notice is how pretty she is._

_Hope’s voice is barely even a whisper. “It makes me feel like I already am”_

_Slowly, Josie turns her head back around around. Her eyes search every inch of Hope’s face before finally, she smiles again._

_“I think it makes me feel that way, too.”_

Josie doesn’t say a word. 

__Hope takes a step forward. “Josie…” she starts, but she doesn’t know what she was trying to say. There’s a million different things she wants to say, but not a single one will make it past the tip of her tongue._ _

__Josie takes a step back. “Goodnight, Hope.”_ _

__She rushes up the stairs. When her hand lands on the railing, Hope sees the emerald jewel, shiny and clear._ _

__Josie’s wearing the crescent moon ring._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it wasn't major hosie, but i think it's the perfect amount for right now. it's unlike the both of them to jump into conversation, seeing as they're both not too big on confrontation. 
> 
> how are we feeling about the length of these chapters? too short? too long? just right? let me know!
> 
> the song they were listening to was "fast car" by tracy chapman. definitely this book's theme song. take a listen to it if you've never heard it before (it's the first song in the playlist i linked in the beginning notes.) i think it suites them well.
> 
> overall, i really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated ♡


	4. It's A Hopeful Day, Hope Mikaelson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! so sorry it's taken me so long to update. with the holidays, i've been super busy with family, but i was able to cough this up. not too fond of it, it's pretty short, but it'll have to due for now and i truly hope you guys like it anyway!
> 
> thank you guys so much for the support and i hope your holiday was amazing! ♡
> 
> also, you can see their outfits for this chapter/day [here.](https://imgur.com/gallery/8n70RZE)

**SEPTEMBER 10, 2030.**

**“GOOD MORNING,** temporary sister.”

It’s the first thing Lizzie says to Hope the second she sits down at the dining table. Today, breakfast is scrambled eggs and Johnsonville sausages. There’s already a glass of milk on Hope’s placemat. The curtains are drawn on the windows and the sun is radiant and painting Alaric’s face. He’s sipping a steaming mug of black, legs crossed as he types on his laptop. Hope peers past Lizzie’s head and into the kitchen, past the half-wall into the living room. No sign of Josie.

After last night’s encounter, Hope had barely slept. And whenever she was seconds away from drifting off into a somewhat peaceful slumber, she’d see Josie the second she’d close her eyes, coloring in the blackness like a paint-by-number book. Once upon a time, thoughts like these made Hope’s heart do summersaults. Now, they just make her want to scream.

Hope clears her throat. “Another one of Josie’s early mornings?” 

“No.” 

It’s a voice that hasn’t changed in all the years Hope has been gone. Josie struts in. She doesn’t give Hope— or anyone— a single glance as her suede, heeled boots clack their way into the kitchen against the hardwood floors. Hope blushes from the embarrassment. 

Lizzie aggressively bites her eggs off her fork. “Where’s your posse?” She snarks. 

Beside her, Alaric is in another world, humming a Beatles song. He’s typing away at the computer like an author trying to hit their word count for the day. He probably didn’t even notice Josie walk in.

“They’re not coming,” Josie huffs from the kitchen. She effortlessly grabs the breadbasket from the top of the fridge and pulls out a slice, slipping it into the toaster. Hope watches as she sways over to the cabinets and pulls out organic peanut butter. “Ask Dad.” 

Lizzie turns around. The old wooden chair, one that’s been in this dining room since Hope was a baby, creaks at every slight movement. 

“Well, allow me to guess, then, _sister._ Would it just so happen to be because you ditched your first day of senior year just so that you could make out with _Penelope Park_?” 

Alaric makes a face. “Dad ears,” he winces. 

Meanwhile, the second Hope heard that name, a sliver of sausage traveled down the wrong pipe, and Hope chokes. She coughs in rows, they’re frantic as she reaches for the glass of milk to down the chunks. Alaric turns at the sudden commotion, and he’s quick to offer a couple of napkins and words of worry. Lizzie rolls her eyes and diverts her attention right back to Josie, whose face is more red than the fruit bowl sitting in the center of the kitchen counter.

Lizzie’s snark and Josie’s attitude become muffled sounds as Hope tries to render the thought of Penelope Park and Josie Saltzman in the same room. Josie despises Penelope Park, nearly as much as Hope does. She’d spent years tormenting the twins, Lizzie more-so than Josie. Hope remembers countless nights of Lizzie, despite her beauty and popularity, coming home in tears because the Park girl had struck a nerve in her too deep to hide the emotional aftermath.

Lizzie tries to hide behind witty comebacks and snarky side remarks, but her mental health has never been where an “average” person’s might be. She’d seen countless therapists, had routine lunch sessions with the guidance counselor back in middle school, and would come home with meds suited to help her “breakdowns,” but nothing would take. She had a side to her no one outside the Forbes’ childhood home had ever seen, and there Josie was— mingling with the one person who knew exactly how to bring it out.

Josie doesn’t sit down at the table. Instead, she eats at the counter. A slice of peanut butter and banana bread and a cup of blueberries. Blueberries had always been her favorite. Hope would watch her eat packs of them in one sitting like a bag of chips. Her fingers would turn shades of purple and blue, her cheeks stuffed like a baby who’s just learning to eat. She’d look so happy over the simplest of things. Eating blueberries at the dining table while scrolling through her phone. 

Hope wants to see her that way again.

“Alright, girls, let’s head out,” Alaric shuts his laptop. “Big day today.” 

Hope coughs as she stands up, still recovering from the sausage incident. “Um, why exactly?” 

Lizzie collects her dishes. This time, there’s no faltering. Josie nudges her plate when her twin walks by, but the blonde doesn’t make a single move to pick it up. The brunette rolls her eyes and struts over to the sink, rising off the white circle. 

“Today’s the day every student chooses their extracurricular,” Lizzie explains. She’s smiling. “I know exactly what I’m choosing. What about you, Hope?”

“Uh…” she thinks. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what they offer.” 

Lizzie wraps her arm around Hope’s shoulders. Hope stares at the dainty hand dangling under her eyes, but she doesn’t shoo it away. She knows it’s some sort of ploy to get the pouty brunette behind them to miss her sister. And honestly, if the friendly gesture gets Josie looking at Hope and any way, shape or form, Hope is okay with it.

“Hmm,” Lizzie thinks as they walk out the front door. The air is crisp and it smells like fall, the colorful leaves swaying down from the undressing trees. “Definitely something a little nerdy.” 

Hope unlocks her car. She nearly loses her balance as Lizzie puts all of her weight onto her. Her dimpled cheeks and blue eyes are staring into the bright morning sky. She reminds Hope of a drunk girl you meet in the bathroom of a club or a bar. Handsy, but friendly. 

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out,” Lizzie shrugs as she gets into the passenger seat. “It’s a hopeful day, Hope Mikaelson.”

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

In first period, Hope is halfway to her spot from yesterday when Landon pulls her down to sit beside him instead. Hope makes a noise, somewhat of a grunt, as her body plops into the seat. She turns and Landon is grinning from ear-to-ear. 

“Hi. Since we’re, you know,” he looks around, “ _friends,_ ” he whispers, before grinning again, “I figured we could sit next to each other.” He blinks and suddenly, panic is sculpted on his face. “Please, say yes. I hate it here.” 

Hope laughs as she pulls her textbook from her bag. The bell rings and students come rushing in like a herd of cows to avoid getting a tardy pass. Mr. Hatfield only rolls his eyes.

“I guess it’ll do,” Hope shrugs. She looks around. “As long as you let me cheat off you during tests. I’m so bad with history.” 

Landon pretends to wipe sweat off his forehead. “Deal,” he sighs. 

“Before we start today’s lesson, I’m going to be passing out the extracurricular sheets. You guys know how this works. Write your name and circle the one you want, yada yada yada,” Mr. Hatfield waves his hand as he hands a stack of sheets to each column of desks to pass down. When Hope gets her green sheet, her eyes scan over the list of what seems like thousands of options. 

Landon chuckles. “Don’t take it too seriously. They’re required, but they’re not for a grade. Pick one you suck at if you really want to.” 

“I’m not good at anything,” Hope’s eyes rush over the list. 

Landon frowns. “You’re an amazing artist. You still love art, don’t you?” 

Hope grimaces. “I mean, yeah, but… I don’t know. It’s not the same since...” but her words fall flat. 

Landon nods. There’s a certain gleam in his eye. He understands her, he always has.

When they were younger, Landon and Hope would sit in the backyard with her dad and paint for hours. Landon would paint stick figures out of watercolor while Hope would paint beautiful sunrises with bursts of pink and orange. She remembers her dad stealing glances at her sheet of colors. He’d smile, tell Hope she was giving him a run for his money. She’d giggle because that’s all she wanted— to be as talented as her father was. Now, she can’t even imagine sitting in her backyard and picking up as much as a colored pencil. 

It wasn’t right. Not anymore. 

“Okay then,” Landon’s eyes scour the list. “How about we make a deal?” 

Hope nods for him to go on. 

There’s options from web design to cooking, and Hope didn’t know public high school’s took extracurriculars so… seriously. 

“We’ll join one together. For me, I really enjoy theatre and all that, but you’ll never see me set foot on a stage because I’d probably projectile vomit over the entire front row, but apart from that… I like theatre. You like art, though you won’t really admit it, I know you still do. So, how about we join set design?” He points to the words on Hope’s sheet like a waiter showing a customer where an item is on the menu. He grins his typical boyish grin, it hasn’t changed since they were babies. 

“Set design?” Hope repeats. “So, like…” 

“Like, we’ll create props and stuff for the school musicals and paint the sets and all that,” he explains. “That way, I’m in theatre, you’re still doing a form of art, and we’re together.” 

Hope laughs. “No offense, Lan, but last time I saw you draw, the person’s eyes were bigger than the head itself.” 

Landon grins. “Well, I’ve got you for that.”

Hope thinks for a moment. It’s a good idea. The thought of creating again, despite the icky feeling, it makes her light up. Plus, it means more time getting to know Landon all over again, as this new and seemingly improved version of himself. It could be fun, she tries to think on the brightside. She hasn’t been doing much of that lately. 

So, she nods.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.” 

Together, they write their names and circle **THEATRE: SET DESIGN.**

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

“I come in peace.” 

When Hope looks up from her phone, Ethan Machado is walking towards her, arms outstretched ahead of him. He takes slow, careful steps. His book bag is resting on one very prominent shoulder, she notices, and it’s not long before a wide smile takes up his face. 

“How’s the shoulder?” He points to the area that, with some ibuprofen, an ice pack and a good night's sleep, healed up quite nicely. It’s sore, but it’s nothing Hope Mikaelson can’t handle. 

Hope sighs. “Turns out, it’s fatal,” she sucks her teeth. “Looks like you’re paying for a funeral instead.” 

“Damn,” Ethan huffs. “Well, I guess as a parting gift…” 

Hope furrows her brows when she notices that he’s reaching into his book bag. He swings it around to his side and pulls out something green. 

“I did some digging at a thrift store yesterday and found you this,” he holds it out. 

When Hope grabs it, she notices that it’s a sweater… of sorts. Lime green and for some reason, silky. It smells like what she imagines her great-great grandmother’s home would smell like— an old rose cologne mixed with the stench of mildew. Hope holds it up and realizes it’s also about four sizes too big.

She’s offended and flattered at the same time. 

“Look,” Ethan plays with the fabric. “It even has shoulder pads.” 

Hope lets out a laugh. It _does_ have shoulder pads. And from the looks of it, they’re not removable. She digs deep inside of her and musters up a smile, but the second hand embarrassment from receiving such a horrid, ugly piece of clothing as a gift, causes blush to rise to her cheeks. 

“Wow,” she swallows thickly. “It’s… beautiful. Thank you,” she laughs and it’s shaky. 

Ethan’s grin is the size of Jupiter. It’s boyish, sort of like Landon’s, but there’s something extra charming. Maybe it’s the constant gleam in his eyes. 

“Do you like it?” He asks. God, he looks so hopeful. 

Hope nods. “Yes. I love it.” 

If she were Pinocchio, her nose would be stretching down the hall. 

Then, Ethan laughs. It’s loud and echoes off the lockers. Some people turn to look, but neither of their gazes stay long enough to embarrass Hope more than she already was. His laugh is slightly contagious, but considering the situation, Hope’s face doesn’t move a muscle. Instead, she tilts her head as she tries to figure out what he’s finding so funny. 

“What…” 

“That thing is hideous!” Ethan cuts her off. “You really think that I would buy you that?” 

Hope can’t see her face, but she knows relief flashes on it like a streak of lighting. She swats Ethan’s shoulder with the horrid sweater. 

“Are you serious?!” Hope groans. 

Ethan giggles. “I had to, I’m sorry. I saw it and couldn’t help myself,” he’s reaching into his bag again, but he stops and looks at Hope. “Granted, you could probably pull it off.” 

Hope scoffs. “Not even Harry Styles could pull this off.” 

Ethan hums. “I don’t know about that one,” he holds a finger up in the air. “That guy has something special.” 

Hope only laughs. Now, Ethan’s holding up something different. It actually looks like a cardigan, similar to the one he shredded yesterday. 

He puts his hand out. “Here,” he wiggles the sweater. “Hopefully you actually like this one.” 

Hesitantly, Hope takes it from him and holds it up. It’s oversized, but not like the one before it. It looks comfortable, like something Hope would snuggle up in bed with while binge-watching CutThroat Kitchen and random Netflix documentaries. It’s taupe and roomy and Hope’s in love with it. 

“Oh, wow,” she says softly. “This… you didn’t have to.” 

Ethan shrugs. “I wanted to.” 

A tiny smile molds onto his face. Like doing something good, making her happy, actually made him happy, too. Hope realizes she’s only helping that ego of his but at this moment, she doesn’t even care. 

Their eyes meet. Hope’s tired of noticing how cute he is. Lizzie’s voice rings in the back of her head. God, if she heard this conversation, Hope would never hear the end of it. As his brown puppy eyes glisten, the bell rings and Hope averts her gaze to the scattering students fleeing to their sixth period. She clears her throat and Ethan finally looks away, a somewhat nervous smile turning up his lips. 

“Well, thank you,” Hope nods to him. “See you in gym, I guess.”

She turns on her heel, but Ethan grabs her elbow. “Hold up! I feel like a dick, but, I don’t even know your name.” 

“It’s Hope,” she says.

“Hope,” he repeats. He grins. “It suits you.” 

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Oh, uh, thanks,” 

He holds out his hand. “I’m Ethan.” 

Hope takes his hand. To her surprise, it’s soft and gentle, like when you dig your hands into a bowl to mix cookie batter. 

It causes her stomach to turn. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this has been pretty ethan-oriented right now, but i promise, it's not going to be this way for the entire story. hosie is gonna happen, it's just all about patience (so i really hope y'all stick around)


	5. A Lot Can Change In Four Years, Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! sorry, i feel like it's been ages since i've updated but i'm back with one finally!! hope you guys enjoy!! 
> 
> (also, hope you had a lovely holiday!)
> 
> p.s., this is unedited! sorry for typos because i know there’s going to be a few. i’m too tired to edit it and really wanted to get something posted so forgive me pls!

**SEPTEMBER 10, 2030.**

**HOPE DIDN’T THINK** she could recall the last time she stepped foot into the Mystic Grill, but the instant she steps inside, it comes flooding back like a tide she can’t out swim. 

Christmas Eve; five years ago. Her, the twins, Caroline and Klaus got a spot in the round corner booth next to the jukebox— their usual. The twins argued over what version of Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) to play. Josie vouched for the original by Darlene Love, of course, while Lizzie was all for Michael Bublé's rendition.

Klaus had held a quarter above their heads. “Enough bickering, girls. Josie, heads or tails?” Klaus grinned. 

Hope remembers him kicking her shin under the table, eyeing her as if to say _watch this_.

“Heads,” Josie said, her tone confident. Then, she paused, a look of doubt washing over her face. “No! Tails. Tails never fails.” 

Lizzie gasped. “That’s not fair!” 

Caroline sighed, yet a delicate smile twitched onto her lips like an aftertaste. When Hope peered over at her, all she could see in her eyes was love. Undeniable, unfathomable love. She wanted to take a picture.

If only she had.

“It’s true, it isn’t fair, love,” Klaus sighed. “Heads will be your final answer. Lizzie, yours tails.” 

Josie’s lips had turned to a beautiful pout. Hope sipped her milkshake to avoid staring right at them.

Klaus tossed the copper into the air. Hope watched it fly in what felt like slow motion. Despite the silliness of the argument between the sisters, she was rather anticipating the outcome. She knew she wanted Darlene Love. It was her favorite, too. The second Josie played it on Christmas Eve several years before, Hope had fallen in love with it. It had been one a good night for the three girls, they’d all gotten along and decorated Christmas cookies together and all took turns playing their favorite holiday songs.

Klaus once tried teaching Hope how to flip a coin, but it only hit her in the face. He grinned and announced it had landed on tails, his prediction. It annoyed Hope and she stormed away. The second time, it fumbled out of her hands and onto the ground, landing in a concoction of mud and rain water on the sidewalk. She said she’d never learn how to do it. She wanted to give up. Klaus rolled up his jacket sleeves, dug out the coin from the soil and told her to try again. A couple hours later, Hope was flipping coins like she’d been doing it for years. 

The coin smacked onto her dad’s hand. He eyed the twins. 

“Can you girls handle the truth?” 

“I can handle anything,” Lizzie rolled her eyes.

Josie nodded frantically, her eyes wide with this competitive gleam that she always wound up denying.

Being competitive, to Josie, was the equivalent of being selfish. Hope realized this during a family game night. Josie had been winning Monopoly, and the moment she it hit her, Hope caught her slipping all of her money to Lizzie under the oak coffee table. 

Winning meant wanting something for yourself. Josie never wanted a single thing for herself, not when her sister’s card’s were on the table.

Klaus winked at his daughter. She furrowed her brows, but continued sipping the thick dessert through the green bendy straw. 

He turned the coin over, slowly, to be dramatic as he always was. 

“Well?” Lizzie stood up a little bit in the booth, trying to get a peak at the reveal. Josie sat with her hands under her thighs, trying to refrain herself from ripping the answer out of Klaus’ hands.

Without saying a word, Klaus got up from the booth. He stalked over to the jukebox and slipped the quarter through the slot.

Darlene Love’s voice echoed throughout the Mystic Grill. A grin etched onto Josie’s face, along with piles of blush on her cheeks. _She looked so cute_ , Hope remembered thinking. _But so embarrassed to be so happy_.

Later that night, when Klaus was wishing Hope sweet dreams, he giggled like a little boy. 

“I must say, I have a confession to make that may have gotten me on the naughty list this year,” he sat down at the end of Hope’s bed. She sat up.

“What did you do?” She asked, her eyes wide with wonder, yet swollen with sleepiness.

He looked around the room, like he was checking for flies on the wall, before he ducked down and whispered: “The coin landed on tails.”

Hope giggled loudly, but covered her mouth the second it bounced off the wall. “What? Why would you lie?” 

Klaus stood up. He played with her auburn hair before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “The reason any father would lie, sweetheart,” he sighed. “For his own daughter. You think I wouldn’t play your favorite Christmas song?” 

Hope smiled. She curled into her dad. He smelled like pine from stocking presents under the tree and smokey vanilla from his cologne. She didn’t know why, maybe it was the Christmas spirit, but she decided to cherish it more than usual that night. 

“I love you, dad,” she’d whispered.

“And I love you, my littlest wolf.” 

The memory hurt. Like a dagger shooting straight through her chest. She can still taste her meal from that night, herb crusted almond trout and truffle fries, and the milkshake she’d poured down her throat. She can still hear the song swaying through the jukebox speakers and she can still smell the Christmas air.

Except it’s not Christmas anymore. It’s September. So she blinks herself back into reality. Looking toward that same booth, there’s now a group of five middle aged men in suites on lunch break. She turns away. 

“Please, for the love of all that is still good in this world, tell me you didn’t pick an extracurricular yet.” 

Lizzie is standing ahead of Hope, arms crossed as they wait for a table. The hostess had rushed off in a daze saying she'd be right back, she just had to wipe it off. Sweat had been glued to her forehead like glitter after a parade. There was a lunch rush, and it seems the Mystic Grill was finally getting out of it. 

Hope avoided eye contact with the Wrath of Lizzie. “I picked one out, yeah.” 

“Hope Andrea Mikaelson!” 

“You remember my middle name?” 

“Not the point!” Lizzie groaned. Her head fell into her hands. “You clearly don’t understand how important extracurriculars are. They pretty much predict how your entire high school year is going to go.” 

Hope rolled her eyes. “You told me to pick something ‘ _a_ _little nerdy.’_ Is that how you wanted _my_ year to go?” 

“Oh gosh, I meant _cool_ nerdy, Hope! What did you even choose?” 

“She chose Set Design,” Landon rushes up beside them. If Hope hadn’t known him so well, she’d say he looked like a middle school boy at that very moment. Bright eyes, youthful, dorky smile, hand wrapped around the strap of his Jansport. “With me.” 

“Oh, my god. I’m gonna barf. You’ve ruined your own life.”

Lizzie _did_ look like she was going to hurl across the restaurant floor. Hope took a step back. To be safe. 

“I really don’t think it’s that serious, Lizzie—“

“Of course it is, Hope! What are you going to do with _Set Design_?” 

“I think it’s cool,” MG appears out of smoke, but he really just used the little boy’s room to wash his hands. According to Lizzie, he’s a borderline germaphobe. 

The hostess comes back. She’s sweatier than before. Hope almost wants to apologize to her for making her think she needed to rush. She takes them to a booth across from the bar. They sit down, Lizzie and MG across from Landon and Hope. She sets down menus and Hope’s eyes immediately rank over the list of items. Not a single one has changed. The menu itself has, though. Once, it was blue with tiny space men decorating the corners. The titles, like _Appetizers_ and _Entrees_ , were painted in neon colors. Now, they seem to have gone classic, boring. Red background, black lettered titles, and simple photographs of the food. 

Hope misses the art of the old menu. 

“What did _you_ choose, anyway?” Hope shoots up from the menu to look at Lizzie, eyebrow raised. “What’s so much better than mine?” 

Lizzie grinned. It was wide and proud. “French,” she nods. It’s outrageously confident.

It was a ridiculously obvious choice, and Hope couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Landon joined in. MG on the other hand, looked hurt. 

“You did _what?!_ ” He frowned. “But we always take Coding together! That’s our thing, man, you know that!”

“Exactly, MG,” Lizzie pointed a finger at him. “We always take it. And I can’t help but think it may be a reason for my low,...” Lizzie looked around, as if she were about to share some deep, dark secret. “ _Social status_ ,” she finished with a whisper. 

“Are you positive that it’s not your award winning personality?” Landon quirked. 

Lizzie glared at him. “Hope. Did you tell your pet Ewok that he could speak?” 

Landon sat back. “I take that as a compliment, actually.”

“Of course you did,” Lizzie rolled her blue eyes.

Landon and Lizzie’s argument carried on. To Hope, they sounded like annoying siblings on a fourteen hour road trip. MG sat back, pouting yet intrigued. Hope knew she should break it up, they were being loud, but she got distracted by the alluring brunette with pretty lips walking in with a group of obnoxious teenagers decorated in MFHS merchandise like they just left a rock concert. Hope hears them request a table of nine.

That poor hostess.

“Your evil twin is here,” MG nudges Lizzie. The argument between her and Landon had finally calmed down, and Lizzie had been scouring the menu. When she sees Josie, she rolls her eyes. “I think she just saw us.”

“Please,” Lizzie scoffs. “Looking at Josie is like looking through one-way glass. We can see her, but she doesn’t see us.”

There’s pain in that sentence. Hope can see it in the way Lizzie’s voice shakes over the final word, and the way her hands flip through the menu mindlessly without reading a single word. Distracting herself from the knowing ache in her chest that once upon a time, Josie would’ve been cuddled up right next to her.

Hope shifts. She’s about to say something to cut the silence, but the sight of Penelope and Josie’s interlocked fingers caused her mouth clamp shut. There’s something about the way Josie’s leather jacket and Penelope’s bare skin brush against in each other in such close proximity that makes Hope’s veins feel like they’re burning. The way Josie’s black painted finger nails, now slightly chipped, gaze over Penelope’s knuckles. They’re holding hands so tight their skin is meshing into a blur of white. It’s when Landon rests his hand on her shoulder, cautiously like he was going to wake a deaf German Shepard, that Hope jumps into the conversation she hadn’t even realized was happening.

“Josie isn’t scary,” Lizzie was saying to MG. “She isn’t mean. She’s just… different. I don’t know.”

“It’s strange,” Hope says. She’d forgotten she had a voice. It takes everything in her not to look over at the herd of students clustered at the host stand, waiting for a big enough table. Everything not to look at Josie. “Josie used to be so…”

Hope’s voice trails off, but Lizzie catches it. “ _Lame?_ ”

“I wouldn’t’ve said that,” Hope cringes.

“Josie got _popular,_ ” Lizzie disregard Hope’s response. Her tone is bitter. Like she had a hair caught in her mouth or she’d just bitten her lip. “And with that, she left me in the dust to wallow in my newfound low self-esteem so please, spare me the reminders. I’m damaged enough as it is.”

“You’re not damaged,” MG’s words sound like a reminder. Like this is a conversation him and Lizzie have had before. She turns for a moment and offers him a smile, so small Hope hardly sees it before it vanishes.

Hope furrows her brows. “But weren’t you two together just the other day? Ric— your dad, I mean— said the two of you were back to school shopping.”

“More like _I_ was walking alone around the town square until _she_ and her posse of cool-kid-wannabes were done maxing out dad’s credit card.”

Hope leans in. “Did the two of you even actually go to Caroline’s for dinner?”

“Our _mom_?” Lizzie laughed. “No way.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to say this as gently as I can,” Lizzie speaks slowly. “You aren’t the only one recovering from losing Klaus,” Lizzie takes a beat. “ We hardly even see her now.”

And then, Lizzie’s gone for a moment. Like memories are replaying in her mind. A trailer of her past life. Hope knows it all too well.

It’s true, Hope can admit it. Caroline lost her husband. It wasn’t only Hope’s pain to bear. Instead of saying anything, she just nods in understanding, afraid she’d break if she opened her mouth.

Lizzie breaks from her trance. “Anyway,” she pulls hair out of her face, “we ate here. Well, Josie did, I guess. I took mine to-go and had a date with my own misery, while she and her friends hollered away at the rooftop seating like a pack of wolves. Josie didn’t care that I was alone.”

“That doesn’t sound like Josie,” Hope mumbled, her response quick. Defensive. It causes everyone to look at her suddenly, each of them with confusion written right on their foreheads, blatantly obvious. “I just mean… I don’t get it. You two were so close,” Hope tries to save herself. “When I got back here, things really didn’t seem much different, but now…”

Lizzie frowns. “A lot can change in four years, Hope.”

It sinks in like salt on a wound. Hope turns to look outside instead, past the dark paned windows and into the town square. She can’t imagine Lizzie sitting there, all by herself, without Josie by her side. They’d always get different sandwiches and split them in two so they could share. They used to share everything, even a room, but now Josie’s made herself a home in the guest bedroom.

Hope once read that surgically removing conjoined twins would most often result in the death of one of the twins. Of course, Lizzie and Josie aren’t _actually_ conjoined, but to her, it always seemed as though their hearts beat as one. Hope wouldn’t have dreamed of driving a knife between the two of them because without each other, they don’t function. They can’t breathe or walk or run or be a surviving human being.

Hope, despite the differences she faced with the twins growing up, was self-aware enough to admit that she was jealous of their bond. She wanted it with someone, only to realize it’s what she had with her father.

And then he died.

Does Lizzie feel like Josie died, too?

“Hope Mikaelson?”

Within the blink of an eye, Penelope Park is walking toward their booth with a strut so fiery Hope thinks she might burn the place down. Her face, as cunning and punchable as ever, inches closer and closer to Hope’s perfect line of view, completely unavoidable, and her hand is still tightly elapsed with Josie’s, dragging her alone like a Chihuahua on a leash.

She stops at the head of the booth and grins. “I thought I’d seen you floating around the school halls like a ghost,” she sucks her teeth. “How’ve you been?”

“Great question, Satan. How about you ask her dead parents?” Lizzie hissed.

To Hope’s surprise, Josie exclaims, “ _Lizzie!_ ” In a few split milliseconds, Josie realized what she had done, and her eyes meet Hope’s before turning down, cheeks turning rose.

In another moment, the words would’ve cut through Hope’s heart and left her splintered on the floor. But for some reason, they don’t. Maybe because it’s true. It was a rather idiotic question, yet Penelope Park was full of those. But she doesn’t ask them out of genuine concern. She isn’t blind to the obvious. Worse, she _knows_ the answers like a tarot reader. A physic. She just wants to put Hope through the pain of lying and saying everything’s been good.

“Oh, right,” Penelope places her free hand over her heart. “So sorry about that.”

Hope smiles through her gritted teeth. “Good as always, Penelope.”

“P, our table is—“ Josie attempts to pull the raven haired girl away from the table, but Penelope sits down beside Landon, a rough pat to the seat that causes Josie’s arm to stretch out and shake the slightest bit. Her eyes are wide for a moment, before she turns away. Hope follows her line of sight— her herd of friends are laughing their way to a table. The hostess pushed together two to make room for the elites of high school society.

“When did you get back, Hope?”

Hope looks down at her menu. Where the hell was the waiter, anyway?

“Couple days ago,” she answers, eyes not wasting a single sight on the girl. Hope does look up, though. To look at Lizzie, who is as stiff as stone. Hope wonders if she touched her, if she’d crumble to pieces.

“Hm. Interesting,” Penelope nods. Her eyes linger over the rest of the table. “You made friends. Cute,” she purrs.

Hope doesn’t reply. No one at the table makes a move. Hope wants to say more, she wants to push Penelope to the edge, make her tick, just like she used to do to the twins, but she doesn’t even know what would make her feel that way. Not yet, at least. Besides, Hope hates drama.

“Well,” Penelope sighs. “Gotta go, lunch awaits. It was nice seeing you again, Mikaelson,” she winks before standing up from the booth. Her almond brown eyes bore into Hope once she finally looks up. They’re mesmerizing. Not in the way where you fall in love. More in the way where it’s a spell that’s been casted. Like the tip of Maleficent’s spindle.

Josie quickly looks at Hope. There’s something in her eyes, similar to a glimmer of guilt, as she lags to follow behind Penelope.

Hope doesn’t break eye contact until the brunette turns away, eyes casting down at the floor as she walks. Hope nearly misses Penelope squeezing Josie’s hand. Hope can’t tell if it’s out of comfort or possession.

It’s silent for a moment. Like the aftershock of a hearing horrible news. Still.

Lizzie is the first one to speak up.

“I can’t believe that my sister is dating the Wicked Witch of Mystic Falls.”

Landon shrugs. “I can.”

“How—“

A waitress, finally, waltzes over. Her hair is burgundy, her skin caramelized with a fake tan, and she reeks of cigarettes. “Name’s Shana. Whataya want?”

“Uh…” Hope thinks. All this time looking at the menu, she never actually read it. “Cheeseburger, I guess. And—“ her eyes scour the list of milkshakes. “Peanut butter blast. Whip cream at the bottom.”

The waitress jots it down. She’s smacking gum and she’s resting all her weight on one side of her body, huffing as she receives Lizzie’s order, (a club sandwich and a strawberry banana milkshake), MG’s order (a french dip, two sides of fries and an cookies and creme milkshake) and Landon’s order, (a double stacked ham burger and a mint chocolate chip milkshake). The waitress drags her feet away and yells into the kitchen.

“She was delightful,” Landon blinks.

“How can you see my sister dating Lucifer Jr.?” Lizzie brings up the topic again. Her eyes full of determination, like a detective looming over a suspect with a heat lamp and a shiny badge.

“It just… makes sense, I guess. Josie’s all popular now. Penelope—“

“Don’t say her name,” Lizzie interrupts.

“— _Lucifer Jr._ ,… is, too. They may run with different crowds sometimes, but, I guess that’s what makes it even better. They’re predictable, sure, but kinda unpredictable, too, I guess. It works,” he shrugs.

Lizzie, suddenly serious, says, “I won’t believe that. Something, someone, hurt her.”

Hope nearly chokes on her own spit. She shifts in her seat, her thighs suddenly feeling sweaty, the air hot. “W… What do you mean? Why do you say that?”

“She’s too different. My Josie would’ve never succumbed to,” Lizzie turns just as a loud eruption of laughter belts through the air. The group of eight are laughing at something on one of the jocks’ phone’s. One of them makes a joke, but Hope can’t make it out. It was funny enough to make Josie laugh, though. “That.” She turns back around. “I swear, if I ever find out what happened to her…,” Lizzie’s nostrils flare. “I’ll have some real revenge set out for them.”

The air feels thin. Hope’s nails dig into her thighs as she tries her best to put on a smile, to not look as though she is completely falling apart.

She knows Lizzie isn’t lying. Josie is— _was_ — her best friend, not just her twin.They were practically conjoined, doing anything and everything together. Almost the kind of twins in horror movies that would freak you out if they suddenly popped up on screen, except they weren’t scary. They were loving towards each other, for the most part. No matter how big the fights would get at the dinner table or what words were thrown in each other’s faces like dirty laundry into a hamper, they always came back together to tell each other goodnight and wake up as sisters again the next morning.

Yet Hope managed to steal their sun and keep them in a permeant night.

They all laugh at Lizzie’s declaration. Her promise.

Hope fakes hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, penelope. 
> 
> what're your thoughts?? still trying to get down their voices so forgive me if it isn't 100% accurate to their character!
> 
> feedback is always appreciated ♡


	6. I Don't Know Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter contains mentions alcohol and 9/11. they’re brief, but please read at your own risk!
> 
> outfits for part of this chapter can be found [here!](https://imgur.com/gallery/f1m4Ctb)

**THE PORCH LIGHT FLICKERS OFF WITH A RESOUNDING BUZZ** and the words strewn across the pages of Hope’s physics notes, in colorful strokes of ballpoint pen, are shadowed by the night sky. It’s only then that Hope picks up her phone and checks the time— 10:47 PM. She’d taken a seat outside on the white wicker sofa, cushioned by a red floral pattern, an hour after her and Lizzie got back from Mystic Grill. Next to her on the glass side table, her hallow to-go cup that was once filled with leftover Peanut Butter Blast, nearly takes off with the wind. She lunges for it before it can fly away, grabbing it so tight her fingers pluck five holes through the styrofoam.

Nothing bad happens in Mystic Falls— nothing jail-worthy, anyway—so watching a teenage girl allow a cup to dance onto the street would bring immense joy to a bored patrol officer on night duty. Hope sets her bag of pens atop the cup, keeping it in place once and for all, crushing it flat.

For a split moment, the auburn allows the fall night to ease up on her like a gentle massage to her shoulders. She feels her tension wash away as she breathes in the harvest air— crisp and musky-sweet. Fall used to be her favorite season, but she doesn’t pay much attention to the color changes in landscape anymore, all the weather eventually blended into one long day of different Fahrenheit’s.

When she opens her eyes, she imagines how this night would look in a painting. A full moon coasting over the clouds, like a head just coming out of the water, luminescent on the yellow-red leaves. The thin blades skate along the sidewalk, hovering over the cracks, ricocheting with each surge of wind.

It’s cool against Hope’s skin— like a thousand icicle kisses.

The feeling of serenity is gone too soon when sound of gravel crunching on the road causes Hope to open her eyes and see the black Range Rover pulling up beside the curb of the Forbes’ home, stopping just before a bronze sewer. There’s no headlights, and no one gets out of the car. Hope almost stands up to run inside and get Alaric, but the passenger door opens and Josie jumps out in her suede black boots, landing perfectly on the edge of the curb.

Hope hears her voice, but she can’t make out the words. She reaches for the book bag at her feet and pulls out her copy of _Howards End_ for British Lit and pretends to be halfway through with it.

The door slams shut. Hope shifts her gaze, but her head doesn’t move. In the driver’s seat, she sees a black lob, and that’s enough for her to know it was Penelope.

Hope contemplates saying anything, not even knowing if Josie had seen her lurking in the shadows like a stalker, but she breaks the night quiet, anyway, her voice at one with the crickets.

“I thought you were grounded.”

Josie’s startled. Hope can tell by the way her shoulders bounce up the slightest bit and her heels clack extra hard against the walkway up to the steps of the porch. But she doesn’t scream, or press her hand to her heart. She stays calm, like nothing bothered her in the first place.

“I am,” she says. Her tone unconcerned. Hope can hear the sound of keys jiggling together and she peaks up. Josie’s threading her fingers through a collection of house keys. Hope couldn’t tell why she had so many. How many houses does she _just_ have access to? Is that what happens when you have so many friends? “Is my dad mad?”

“He’s been in the den all night,” Hope dog ears the corner of the book, but she doesn’t close it. “But probably.”

Josie nods, and Hope thinks this the end of their conversation— if she’d even call it that. They once could talk for hours, even in a disguise of demise, but now they’ve resulted to small talk on a porch like a parent picking up their child from a playdate, forced to talk to the mother sipping wine on the sofa as the kid gathered all their things. It felt unfamiliar.

It felt wrong.

Hope watches over the pages of her book as Josie goes to touch the doorknob, but she pulls back from it like it’s oven hot. She pauses. Hope can tell she’s contemplating something, the gears in her head turning and turning, like she’s racking her brain for the right thing to say.

Hope knows the feeling well.

“I’m sorry about Penelope, that whole thing earlier,” Josie’s laughs as she scratches the back of her neck. “She just gets like that sometimes”

Hope inhales. It sharp, unlike her fresh breath of air merely minutes ago, right before Josie arrived and stole it out of her like a succubus. “I know,” she nods stiffly. “I remember.”

She wants to say: _I remember all the times she tormented Lizzie and dug her claws into you. All the times you had to sit at the end of Lizzie’s bed and talk her down. All the times you had to confront Penelope the next day, face as red as a bag of cherries, angry and embarrassed._

But she doesn’t say any of that.

Josie crosses her arms. “She’s changed,” she insists.

Hope flattens the dog ear and turns the page, pretending to run her eyes along each row of words.

She wants to look up, to admire Josie. To see the girl her heart broke for every day she was gone, and every day she was here, and still— it breaks. Because despite being gone for four years, Hope can, _sometimes_ , still read Josie like an open book, the parts of her she _really_ knew. For instance, right now, she’s defensive, feeling it’s necessary to explain herself.

If Hope were the girl Josie wanted her to be, she’d tell her that it’s fine, that she understood. That people can change. It’s true; people _do_ change. But shown in everyone she has ever known— including herself— it’s not usually for the better.

When Hope doesn’t say anything, Josie slaps her hands against the side of her thighs. Finally, Hope looks her in the eyes.

“You don’t get to judge me, Hope,” Josie voices gets loud, and it’s the clearest she’s spoken since Hope had gotten back. Her voice had bounced off the paneled bones of the house causing Josie’s cheeks turn candy apple. Her eyes dart around the dark, searching for any lurking neighbors on night walks that might’ve stopped in their tracks, leaning their nosy ears in for more. She casts her gaze downward, staring at the Welcome mat under her boots. “ _You lost that right a long time ago,_ ” she whispers. It’s so quiet, Hope isn’t sure she was meant to hear it.

A light turns on inside the house, casting a warm yellow glow onto the side of Hope’s face. Her eyes linger on Josie for a momen and they soften. She looked so small. It pains her to watch for another second, so she turns away, eyes peering inside the window. Alaric is making a beeline towards the front door, the pull switch of the entry way lamp swinging back and forth.

There’s a million things Hope could say right now. For starters, that she was sorry— sorry for leaving, sorry for how she left. Sorry for making Josie think she would ever judge her, even for a second.

Instead, she just says, “Your dad is coming.”

Josie’s mouth opens for a fleeing moment, like someone gasping for a breath, right before it clamps shut. A look washes over her face— pain, guilt, heartache, regret. All of the above, maybe. Before Hope can get a better look, the front door is swinging open like a gush of wind used it’s own bare hands during a rainstorm.

“Dad…” Josie starts, but she doesn’t finish. Her voice trails off, like she didn’t know what to say to begin with.

Alaric under-eyes are swollen and dark. “Just get inside, Josette,” he says faintly. His eyes flash toward Hope, before he steps aside so Josie can walk in. Hope hears her heels run all the way up the stairs. A door slams.

Alaric clears his throat. “Uh, you should get some rest,” his voice is hoarse. A car drives by, headlights shining onto his face for a moment. The color in his eyes have been drained, and they’re heavy. His shoulders are slumped and his green sweater is wrinkled and there’s a wet spot on his stomach. “It’s late.” It’s only then she notices that his speech is the slightest bit slurry.

Hope closes the book. “I’ll be in in a bit.”

He nods. The door comes to a gentle close. She watches through the window as Alaric starts up the steps, his pace slow, laggy. Like he spent hours at the gym and it’s taking every muscle in his body to get up the steps. She watches as he trips over his own feet, hand slamming against the step to catch himself, his other hand gripping onto the bannister so he doesn’t face-plant into the wood. When he finally looks up, Hope sees him inhale. It’s long, sharp, and it looks painful. Not the breath itself, but everything he inhaled— all of the anger, the stress and the sadness, he took it all in with one swift breath, before exhaling and continuing up the steps.

An ache swelled in Hope’s chest like a throbbing bruise or a killer migraine. When she was younger, Alaric— in the rare occasion that she saw him— was always happy. Beaming smile with pearl white teeth, open arms like long distance friend waiting at the airport, outrageous stories she never really believed but loved nevertheless, and flawless book recommendations that always seemed to fit whatever she was going through. He always had something to give to her, even though she wasn’t remotely his daughter, nor stepdaughter. He treated her like his own, and though they’d never been close, Hope always felt comfortable around him. But the man struggling up the steps of his ex-wife’s childhood home, drunk on a school night, was a stranger to her.

Hope gathered her things— _Howards End,_ her physics notes, her trigonometry textbook, and her case of rainbow ballpoint pens— and placed them gently into her bag, fearful that any noise would cause the house to fall from the ledge it already is resting on. Inside, she locks the door behind her.

Chills glide up and down her spine, like fingertips ghosting against her bare skin, tickling her, causing the hairs on her body to stand. This house, she never noticed before, is dark. Not just from the feelings like lurk inside of it— the grief and the heartache— but the furniture. The limited amount of light. The curtains in the living room, they’re always drawn shut. Hope thinks the first and last time she ever saw light breaking onto the old oak floors was at breakfast. She wonders if tomorrow they’ll be shut with Alaric’s pounding head, Lizzie’s resentment, and Josie’s downward eyes.

For now, Hope turns off the lamp.

Tomorrow morning, she’ll open the curtains.

**SEPTEMBER 11, 2030.**

There’s an assembly for 9/11 in the auditorium instead of first period. Hope is sitting in the back with Landon, Lizzie and MG in a row of solid black seats. Sitting on them for too long makes your butt go numb, so Hope has to shift every minute or two to avoid the throb. The carpet beneath their shoes looks like it was ripped from a cinema in the 50’s. Bold drapes, similar to the shade of Marilyn Monroe’s red lipstick, hang in columns on the sound-proof walls. On the eight foot stage, a girl Hope recognizes from middle school, Ruby Williston, is giving a speech about the importance of first responders. She tears up as she recalls her grandfather losing his life to the flames— she says she never knew him, though.

Lizzie blinks. “Well this is _depressing_ ,” her eyes rank along the faculty, students and first responders in a line across the stage, a look of pure horror on her face. She breaks away and turns to Hope. “On a somewhat brighter note, I saw you and my evil twin mingling on the porch last night. What was _that_ all about?”

Hope keeps her eyes locked on Ruby Williston. Mostly because she’s terrified that if she looks at Lizzie, her eyes will tell it all— that she’s the one who hurtJosie. Changed her. “We weren’t _mingling_. She was apologizing for how Penelope was at the Grill,” Hope whispers. Her eyes glance around the room for any glaring teachers. “Now, be quiet.”

“What is she apologizing to you for about _Lucifer Jr.?_ ” Lizzie scoffs. Landon _shh’s_ her and she reaches across Hope and yacks his shoulder. He pulls back from her, his back leaning into MG’s side, face full of pain.

“Okay, _ow_ ,” Landon hisses. “You have rings on!”

“Oh boohoo, you Oompa Loompa. Want me to buy you a lollipop and kiss it better?”

Landon frowns and rubs the sore spot. “Maybe…”

Lizzie’s about to swat him again, but Hope catches her wrist mid-air. “Can you simply not do that again?” she whispers. The kids two rows ahead of them look back, glaring. _As if they weren’t laughing at Ruby Williston’s tears literally two seconds ago._

“Fine,” Lizzie shakes her arm out of Hope’s grip. “Anyway, back to my question.”

Hope shifts in her seat, realizing her butt was aching. “What?” she asks through an exasperated sigh.

“My _question_ , Hope,” Lizzie rolls her eyes. Hope’s surprised they haven’t fallen out of her head all these years. “About Josie and Lucifer Jr.”

“Do you really have to keep calling her that?”

“Yes,” Lizzie stated matter-of-factly.

Hope’s eyes travel up and down the aisles, searching forpin straight hair with a bun at the top— that had been Josie’s hairstyle when she came down for breakfast in the morning, only minutes before she had to jump into Alaric’s car and head to school. She’d looked so beautiful in her baby blue dress decorated with tiny drawings of cherries, finished with her signature leather jacket. When she’d brushed past Hope on her way out the door, Hope nearly grabbed her hand and told her to wait. She wanted to hold it— so delicate, dainty, wearing Hope’s crescent moon ring. She wanted to ask why.

Hope looks back at Ruby Williston, only to see she was walking off stage and people were applauding. She joins in.“I’m assuming for just being, I don’t know, blatantly rude towards me.”

“Yeah, but Josie would never apologize for that,” Lizzie shakes her head. A different student takes the podium, another kid from middle school. His name is Pat Sanderson and he’d given Hope candy hearts on Valentine’s Day in the seventh grade. When he called her and asked her out later that night, she had said no, that she already liked someone else. “Penelope has been _way_ worse with me and—“

“Can you just drop it!?” Hope snaps. It’s sharp enough that it earns the full attention of MG and Landon, eyes wide with interest, yet faces ridden with shock. Lizzie wiggles in her seat, sinking down crossing her arms over her chest. Hope can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or pissed off.

“Fine, then,” Lizzie mutters. “Only _my_ sister we’re talking about.”

Hope rubs her eyes. “Look, Lizzie, I’m—“

“If you four don’t stop talking, I’m going to have to ask you to talk a walk down to Mr. Saltzman’s office, and I’m sure he won’t be too thrilled to see you all during this hour,” a teacher stalks up behind them, her footsteps as quiet as a prowling cat. Hope doesn’t know her, but her stance is intimidating enough for Hope to know she isn’t one of the nice, cheery teachers who lets you listen to music during class and laugh loudly with your friends after all your work is turned in. “Am I right, Ms. Saltzman?” She turns to Lizzie, but Lizzie doesn’t answer her. Hope thinks if this teacher were an animated character, she’d have a snake’s tongue that slithered out after every sentence.

“We’re sorry, ma’am” MG takes the fall. He smiles his classic, charming MG smile. “It won’t happen again.”

Her eyes are shards of glass, shiny and bright but sharp and cold. She looks him up and down, makes a _hmm_ sound with back of her throat, and stalks backward into the shadows.

Hope to curls into her seat.

Today is not Hope Mikaelson’s day. After the assembly, she’d tripped getting out of her seat, causing her things to spew from her backpack and scatter across the aisle. A careless student stepped on her sketchbook causing a size seven dirt imprint to dirty the cover. On her way to third period, the left side of her earbuds stopped working and she grew dizzy with the imbalance and ran into a freshman, knocking books out of _their_ hands and was late to class because she helped them pick everything up (and they didn’t even say a quick thank you). And then, right when she was changing into her clothes for P.E., the rubber bottom of her sneakers tore off, which resulted in her wearing Sketchers that were one and half sizes too small for her feet, and she had to run laps around the track with forming blisters.

Now, in the grand finale of Hope Mikaelson’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, her damn car won’t start.

The horrid, squealing vibration of the engine cranking and dying is enough for Hope to bang her head into the steering wheel, a loud groan passing her lips.

“Sounds like karma to me,” Lizzie doesn’t look at Hope as she speaks, her eyes glaring out the passenger window, squinting into the beaming sun.

“You do realize,” Hope snarls, “this means we have to ride home with your dad, right?”

Lizzie’s eyes grow wide. “Keep trying, Mikaelson. Try until you bleed.”

Hope doesn’t know why she tries again, but she does. In a shocking turn of events, it doesn’t work.

Lizzie groans. “This car is a piece of junk.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. Are _you_ the one giving me a ride to and form school every day?” Hope hisses back.

“Well, _clearly_ , it can’t even be trusted. When did you even buy this thing? Nineteen eighty-five?”

“Don’t talk about my car that way.”

“I’m sorry, does it have feelings?”

“You know what? I’m about _this_ close to—“

There’s a tapping on Hope’s window. When she turns, the sun blinds her eyes, so she makes a visor with her hands and cranks down the window. As leans closer, eyes squinted, the beams turn to shadows, Hope realizes it’s Ethan.

The first thing he says is: “Your car sounds awful.”

“Told you,” Lizzie mutters.

Hope disregards her by holding up a hand.

“So you’ve gone from beating me up to insulting the things I love. I appreciate that, Ethan, thank you.”

His mouth twitches into that cute grin. Hope has to look away so she doesn’t smile, too.

“Come on,” he motions his head. “I’ll give you guys a ride.”

For a jock, the inside of Ethan’s car is clean. Hope doesn’t know what she expecting. Maybe jock straps and empty Gatorade bottles nestled up with month old burritos. Instead, the cloth seats don’t hold a single stain, the air smells of green apple from the dangly tree on his rearview mirror, and the only bottle in the car is his water bottle from the school day. Hope knows this because it’s the first thing he sets down once he opens the driver’s side door.

Hope and Lizzie sit in the back. The passenger seat is taken up by another girl. Curly black hair, tan skin and perfectly placed moles, similar to Ethan’s. It takes Hope a moment to register where she’d seen her before, but it hits her on the backside of the head like a basketball. Yesterday, at Mystic Grill, she’d been one ofthe girls’ in Josie’s group of friends.

“This is my twin sister, Maya,” Ethan motions his hand to the girl Hope now knows as Maya. She doesn’t look up from her phone. “Don’t mind her, she’s a brat.” He buckles himself in and starts the car. It roars to life and it sounds ten times healthier than Hope’s.

Maya rolls her eyes. “I’m literally just texting, Ethan.”

“Oh yeah? Who are you texting? Any girl I should be worried about?”

Maya scoffs, but she doesn’t bite back. Ethan looks back as if to say _look how easily I can piss her off._ He and Hope exchange a smile before he backs out from the parking space with ease, them being one of the last few cars to actually leave the school.

“So, Hope,” Ethan drives with one hand on the wheel. “What brought you to Mystic Falls?”

Beside him, Maya snorts. “Small talk. Good way to impress a girl, Ethan.”

For a short moment, he almost looks embarrassed. Beside Hope, Lizzie sucks her tongue to avoid from laughing. If she weren’t so mad at Hope, she’d be slapping her on the leg right now. Repeatedly.

Hope disregards Maya’s comment. “I grew up here,” she says. “I moved to New Orleans with my dad and his wife— Lizzie’s mom— when he got sick. Stayed there for a while after he passed but decided to come back. Impulsive decision, really.” It comes out easy, a story rehearsed a million times before for strangers on a park bench or family friends she doesn’t know all that well.

“Oh,” Hope can see Ethan’s frown through the rearview. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Hope hates herself for telling him, anyway. It wasn’t exactly the most riveting story. She could’ve just as easily said she missed her hometown and wanted to come back. It would’ve been a lie, sure, but at least it wouldn’t have caused such a deadly silence.

No pun intended.

Maybe.

Instead of saying quiet, Ethan strikes up a conversation. “I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans,” he grins.

“You _have_?” Maya laughs. “I’ve never heard you say that, like not even once.”

Hope wonders how much easier this conversation would be flowing if Lizzie and Maya _weren’t_ in the car.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Ethan glares at his twin sister. “Besides, there’s a lot of places I wanna go to that you don’t know about.”

“Like where? _Hooters_?” Maya snarks back.

This time, Lizzie actually laughs out loud. She gains a look of approval from Maya.

 _Points for her, I guess_.

Suddenly, Hope realizes Ethan knows exactly where he’s going. He doesn’t even miss a turn. It comes up like a bad taste in her mouth. He’s done this before.

“How do you know where you’re going?”

Mystic Falls is a small town. He could easily just know where everyone lives. Lizzie does, and Hope remembers Caroline driving down streets in middle school and the blonde would point at every house and say exactly who lived in each and every one of them.

For the first time, Maya turns around in the seat and looks at Hope, having to lean out a little more considering Hope was sitting directly behind her. Her face told Hope she was an idiot.

“Because he dated your step-sister,” Maya laughs. “Duh.”

Quickly, Hope’s eyes avert to Lizzie. She looks almost horror-struck, like Hope had found an earring belonging to another woman in her and her partner’s bed. Lizzie opens her mouth to say something, closes it, opens it again, barely forming a word before Maya cuts her off.

“Not that one,” she says, eyeing Lizzie up and down. “Obviously.”

Lizzie tugs at her denim jacket and curls into herself.

“It was a long time ago,” Ethan waves it off. “Seriously,” he adds.

His eyes meet Hope’s in the rearview, but he’s quick to break the contact.

“Wait…” Hope says slowly. She’s trying to process the information that just slapped her across the face like a dead fish. “You and Josie dated?”

“Yeah,” Maya speaks for him. Again. She flashes a smile at Hope, and Hope can’t tell, for the life of her, if it’s genuine or not. She can already tell Maya has a certain way about her— a very fine line between sincerity and superficiality. So thin it’s hard to tell when they’re completely overlapping with each other. “Last year,” she adds. “They were really cute together, but then Penelope Park came along and stole what didn’t belong to her, _as she usually does_ , and of course, Josie fell for it. Ethan was pretty heartbroken for awhile, too. I couldn’t get him out of bed for _days_ and—“

“We’re here,” Ethan cuts her off. He clears his throat. It sounded like it hurt.

Hope is frozen. Ethan is staring out the window, eyes not making a single attempt to meet her’s again. It’s when Lizzie opens her side door that Hope comes back to life and mutters a quick _thanks for the ride_ before jumping out of the car, her feet hitting hard on the ground causing her knees to rattle. She winces before reaching up and shutting his door. Ethan backs away and speeds down the street, not looking back.

Neither of the girls make a move toward the front door.

It’s silent for awhile.

“I’m sorry, I really should’ve—“

“It’s fine, Lizzie,” Hope cuts her off.

“But I know you like him and this could complicate things and—“

“When did I ever that say I like him?”

Lizzie sighs. “Of course you didn’t,” she huffs. “But I know that you do. Or that you could, at least. Besides, apart from the annoying jock stereotype, Ethan really _is_ a good guy,” she pauses. “I think you should go for it, Hope. Don’t you think it’s worth a shot?”

Hope looks up. They’re still standing outside the house, feet planted in the grass of the front yard. The sun beats down on them and despite the fall weather, it makes Hope hot, and sweat sticks to her forehead like paste.

She wonders, for a split second, if any of this is real. The heat, the grass, the sky. The life past the sky and the life past the ground. Sometimes, she wants to believe that nothing is real. That she’s dreaming. Or she’s just stuck in limbo somewhere, creating a fake reality for herself so she doesn’t feel anymore pain. That the world isn’t actually turning.

And then, she wonders if that’s actually any better.

The truth is, “I don’t know,” Hope whispers. “I don’t know anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter & feedback is always appreciated! ♡


	7. I Don't Have A Thing For Josie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! i'm sorry but this is a pretty short chapter. writer's block as been kicking by butt but i really wanted to get something out for you guys so i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! i promise i'll make sure the next chapter is 10x better!!

**SEPTEMBER 14, 2030.**

**“I NEED YOUR HELP.”**

Through the phone, Hope tunes into the sound of a sizzling pan. She can almost smell the bacon cooking and see her uncle standing above the stove, towel over his shoulder, dainty spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose. Elijah laughs.

“It’s hardly been a week,” he hums. “What seems to have troubled you already?”

The stove ticks, the gas coming to a stop. Hope tries to imagine every movement her uncle makes as she curls her knees to her chest and looks out into the backyard. In New Orleans, her backyard was a distant view of a lively city. This morning, she would’ve seen a familiar group of women in their mid-twenties, early thirties, speed-walking to their yoga class, water bottles already half-empty. Now, her view is dead autumn leaves, a fenced in yard, and an abandoned play ground with a swirly yellow slide that was the length of Hope’s leg.

“I had a problem with my car—“ she starts.

Elijah laughs again. “Of course.”

“—and I don’t really understand what’s wrong with it. They said something about the engine but, it’s a lot of money and I… I don’t have enough.”

It’s silent for a moment. He’s looking out the kitchen window, she just knows it, and the AM sun is breaking onto his face. Though Uncle Elijah didn’t look much like her father, Hope always found comfort in his features. They were a gentle reminder of her dad’s. She wishes she was there with him right now. She’d come rushing down the steps and make a home for herself on one of the barstools. He’d slide her a plate and put down three strips of bacon because he never had to ask how many she wanted. And then, he’d probably give her some random history lesson about whatever day it was, and she’d listen.

“I’ve been begging you to get rid of that old thing for ages now, Hope,” he huffs. “We knew this would happen eventually.”

Hope nods, though he can’t see her. “I know, I know, but…” her voice gets caught in her throat. Tears flood her eyes. When she blinks, they fall, and she wipes them away with her sleeve. Hugging herself closer, she inhales, exhales. “I..It was dad’s, so…” her voice trembles.

“Say no more,” Elijah meets her whisper. When Klaus died, Hope had lost her father. Elijah had lost his little brother, his best friend. They’d been so close and sometimes, Hope thinks that Uncle Elijah is the only person who can come close to understanding the pain of losing him. “I’ll send you some money but Hope,” he warns. “This can’t become a thing.”

“It won’t,” Hope promises. “I’ll get a job. I’ll pay you back. I just can’t lose that car. I love that car.”

“I loved that car, too,” Elijah whispers.

Hope knows they aren’t talking about the car.

“We miss you here, Hope.”

She pulls the phone away from her ear. A sob she didn’t except comes out of her like a raging roar, and for a moment, she hides her face between her knees and she can feel her shoulders shake.

“I miss you, too,” she finally says.

“Call me more. You’re my favorite niece, after all.”

Hope laughs. “I’m your only niece.”

“Precisely. Still counts, no?”

Hope ignores it. “Love you, Uncle Elijah.”

“I love you, too, Hope.”

She hangs up the phone. Outside, the sky is grey, but yesterday the forecast said to expect sun. So, there goes the world again— doing what it does best and letting her down.

Mystic Falls is alive with townspeople, including students from school Hope would barely even recognize if it weren’t for their _MFHS_ merchandise. The sky is still in overcast, but every door to every shop is open and inviting. As she and Lizzie walk past a candle store, a strong whiff of lavender and coconut hits her. She almost walks in.

“I heard from Mandy, that prissy sophomore girl who works in the front office, that there’s a new exchange student from Europe starting school herenext week,” Lizzie grins. “His name is Sebastian, and he is going to be mine.”

Hope snorts. “You haven’t even seen him.”

“So?” Lizzie nudges her. “He’s _British_. I don’t need to see him.”

“You do realize there’s countries in Europe that aren’t England, right? He could be from Sweden for all you know.”

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “I know that, Hope. It’s just… a gut feeling. And if I’m right, then it’s proof. Sebastian and I are meant to be,” she grins proudly, swaying her arms back and forth. “I think I’m going to ask my dad to let me show him around school. I’ll tell him it’s because I want to be a better, more welcoming person. Do you think he’d believe that?”

Hope stops. “Do _you_ think he’d believe that?”

Lizzie opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it. She thinks for a moment, like Hope had just asked her to solve the world’s most difficult math equation.

“I’ll come up with something different,” she nods. “But you’re helping me.”

“And why should I do that?”

Lizzie looks head, a smile still stretched on her face, but now her eyes are filled with mischief. “You’ll see.”

For once, Hope doesn’t bother picking apart Lizzie’s words. She has her mind on something and once Lizzie Saltzman has her mind set on something, nothing and no one will ever be able to stop her. Not even a hurricane. Or death. She’ll be getting what she wants from the grave.

They stop outside a tiny diner around the corner of a coffee house. Lizzie smiles up at it like she’s just seen the castle at Disney World. It’s called City Room Diner, and Hope doesn’t remember ever seeing it before, yet it doesn’t look new. It’s teal bones have cracks in them that look like spider legs, the paint is chipped on the corners. The writing of the restaurant name on the windows is rubbing off like a temporary tattoo, but through the glass, she can see that it’s filled with patrons.

“Can we even get a table?” Hope eyes the crowd through the glass. “It’s packed.”

“I called ahead,” Lizzie grabs her arms and pulls her toward the front door.

“You got us reservations for breakfast at a _diner_?”

Lizzie grins. “I know a guy,” she shrugs. “Okay. I know two. Kind of.”

Inside, it smells like a breakfast heaven and Hope’s stomach growls. After listening to Elijah cook through the phone this morning, she’d been craving bacon and eggs for hours. Lizzie leads them to a table in the back corner. They have to shimmer through impatient, foot-tapping customers and Hope ignores the dirty looks the best she can as they sit down.

“You’ve been here before?” Hope eyes Lizzie.

“A few times. MG works here. He’s a dishwasher, though, so we probably won’t be seeing him.”

“Oh. So that’s how you got us a table, then?”

“Um…” Lizzie avoids eyes contact. Instead, her eyes scour over the menu. “Not quite.”

“What—“

“First my car, now my job? You girls taking over everything I love?”

_Oh, for fucks sake._

Hope tries to smile. “Ethan.”

“Hope,” he smiles effortlessly. “Good morning to you.”

“I’m here, too,” Lizzie speaks up. He looks at her.

“Good morning, Lizzie,” he sings. She grins.

“Good morning, Ethan. I’ll take an orange juice. But no pulp. It’s gross and skin-like. I don’t enjoy feeling like a cannibal.”

“Anyway,” Ethan turns to Hope. “For you?”

“Just a water, thanks,” Hope doesn’t break eye contact with Lizzie. It says _I’m-going-to-fucking-murder-you-the-second-he-walks-away._ Lizzie sinks into her chair.

“Comin’ right up,” he tucks his pencil behind his ear and walks away.

Hope watches him disappear into the kitchen, the muscles of his back protruding from his white, grease-stained t-shirt. Once he’s finally out of sight, she snaps her head toward Lizzie.

“This was your grand idea to get me to help you with Sebastian?”

A runner brings out fresh biscuits to the table. They’re steaming when he sets them down and rushes off, delivering about five more baskets to nearby tables. Hope grabs one and it burns her fingers, but she accepts the pain with her undeniable hunger and doses the fluffy bread with the table side butter packets.

Lizzie sets down her menu and reaches for a biscuit. She hisses at the heat and throws it back down into the basket. “I felt awful about the whole _Josie_ thing. It’s so clear the two of you have a thing for each other.”

Hope chokes on a chunk of bread. She searches the table for a drink, but the only liquid on the table right now is maple syrup. She lightly bangs against her chest instead.

“Can you stop choking all the time?” Lizzie huffs. “If you keep doing it, I’m going to have to learn the Heimlich and I really don’t feel like doing that.”

Hope finally catches her breath. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

Lizzie eyes her. “You can’t deny it, Hope.”

“I don’t have a thing for Josie.”

This time, Lizzie chokes. It’s a coughing fit for a good few seconds that slowly evolve into loud, obnoxious rows of laughter.

“Oh _God,_ ” she finally gets out. “Ew! _Josie_? No! I meant Ethan. Why would you think I meant _Josie_?”

Relief washes over Hope. She wants to laugh it off with Lizzie, to act _normal_ , but she can’t bring herself to do it. She shifts in her chair and looks at the frames on the red walls instead. “I don’t know. You worded it weird.”

Lizzie shutters. “I never want to think about you and Josie like that _ever_ again. That’s like my sisters getting together. Gross.”

Hope blushes. She’s well-aware of her and Josie’s former status as step-sisters, though it never felt that way. With Lizzie, sure. But the moment Hope first laid eyes on Josie Saltzman, before she even realized she had liked girls, something woke up inside of her that she just couldn’t put back to sleep. It kept her up at night, tossing and turning. Years later, it still does. It once felt like a dream, but now it’s more like a nightmare. Like Josie is a figure standing over her bed, bringing her anything but a good night’s rest.

_Some people might call that guilt, Hope._

_“_ Anyway _,”_ Lizzie waves her hand. “Obviously, I meant you and Ethan. You two have a thing for each other and if I have to play matchmaker for the both of you cowards, then I will. Just admit it.”

Hope thinks about it. She doesn’t know how she feels about Ethan— she doesn’t even know the guy. Sure, he’s charming and cute, but so is Landon Kirby and Hope isn’t drooling over him.

She rubs her eyes. “How many times are we going to do this, Lizzie? I’ve told you already. I don’t know how I feel about him.”

“Well, are you attracted to him?”

Hope nods. “Sure. He’s cute.”

“Then that should be enough. You do realize that’s how love-at-first-sight _actually_ works, right? No one loves someone the moment they see them, they’re just attracted to them. And you’re attracted to Ethan.”

Hope laughs. “Are you really trying to tell me that Ethan Machado is the love of my life?”

Lizzie shrugs and picks up her menu again. “You never know unless you try, Mikaelson.”

“Well, I highly doubt that he is.” For a fleeing moment, Josie pops into Hope’s mind.

Lizzie looks at her over the menu. A photograph of a stack of pancakes is staring at Hope from the cover. “Fine. Prove me wrong, then.”

“What?”

“Prove me wrong. Show me that you are incapable of falling in love with Ethan Machado and I’ll let this whole thing go.”

“Is this a _bet_?”

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “We’re not twelve. Of it’s course not.” When Hope looks up, Ethan is on his way back with drinks.“I just think you’re afraid of actually putting yourself out there,” Lizzie adds. It’s quick and Hope opens her mouth to reply, but Ethan’s already at the table.

“So, Ethan,” Lizzie gives Hope a look. “I have this _thing_ tonight. Big plans. Hope was just telling me how bored she’s going to be tonight with absolutely nothing to do. Do me a favor and keep her busy?”

Hope kicks Lizzie’s shin underneath the table. _Hard._ The blonde winces but she’s quick to hide the pain.

Ethan turns to Hope. “I’d love to,” he grins. “Only if you’re up for it, of course.”

If Hope says no, she’ll look like a total asshole. If Hope says yes, Lizzie wins. For a moment, she weighs the options in her mind, imagining them on a scale. The more and more she thinks about it, the more “yes” rises to the top. She _would_ be bored tonight.

Reluctantly, Hope nods. “ _Sure_ ,” she says.

“Great,” Ethan smiles. “Can I pick you up at seven, then?” He looks happy, excited, even, and Hope wishes she could return the emotion, but her heart is pounding out of her chest and she feels sick.

In all honesty, Ethan scares her. Because the more and more she thinks about it, the more she realizes it— Ethan _is_ her. All charming and flirty and confident. Ready to fight for what he wants until he can’t anymore.

Until he just simply _won’t_.

“Sounds good,” Hope lies.

All she ever does is lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feedback is much appreciated!! ♡


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